The Successful Failures of El Mentedor
by Murasaki Yugata
Summary: A Western AU with characters based on those from the movie Megamind.
1. Chapter 1

**FBI Warning:** I do not own Megamind. Yet. I also do not speak Spanish, nor do I know anything about Mexican, Native American, Spanish, Glaupunktian, or really any other culture. Please don't take offense if I inadvertently or advertantly grossly insult your heritage. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to events, real or fictional, are purely coincidental. This disclaimer is copyright me. Void where prohibited.

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Roxanne had learned to dread the sound of flamenco guitars, and sighed to herself as the familiar notes cut through the formerly quiet saloon air. Picking up a rag, she began to wipe down the bar from behind the counter, ignoring the figure she knew was already standing in the doors. She didn't need to look up to know how he was moving or when during his self-proclaimed "theme song" he was going to snap his fingers. For though he was certainly the most unconventional person she had ever met, he was also quite notably the most predictable.

He would be wearing the same strange get-up he always did. The flowing black cape with the bright blue lining. The frilly shoulder pads, each adorning a large silver spike that resembled the horn of a bull. That formal black coat with two vertical lines of blue buttons running down the front, each connected by matching tassels. Those black pants that were far too tight and yet somehow managed to show off nothing at all. The black leather cowboy boots, complete with silver spurs. It was a mish-mash of styles from different cultures, signifying an outfit that yearned to be accepted by people everywhere, but fit in nowhere. And it suited him.

But his outfit was not what drew every pair of eyes in the saloon – save Roxanne's – to the man. No, his natural appearance was far more outlandish than any set of clothing could hope to be. That blue skin. His freakishly oversized, bald head. The piercing green eyes, the angular features, the small goatee running down his chin, the long fingers, the slender frame, and the short stature. Over the years many people had whispered about his potential origins. Some said he was an alien. Others claimed he was a demon. Still others insisted that he was perfectly human, but had been born deformed or physically transformed by some strange scientific experiment. There were theories that he was a supernatural servant of a Native American god, or perhaps a member of a strange, unknown tribe from South America. But nobody knew for sure.

Roxanne had never joined in the speculation. She didn't care where he'd come from so much as where he was at the moment. Which she usually hoped was far away from her. But, alas, the man had seemed to take it upon himself to become the bane of her existence.

As he sauntered up to the bar, she doubled her efforts to ignore his presence.

His attempts at Spanish were frequent, but so painfully bad that Roxanne had become convinced he'd never actually met anyone who spoke the language. And yet, he tried. Why he tried, she wasn't sure. But somehow even a simple 'hola' would get mangled with its English translation and come out as a word that was entirely nonsensical in both languages.

"Ollo, Miss Ritchi," he said with a devious smile. His theme song continued on in the background as they talked.

Roxanne sighed, keeping her attention on cleaning the bar. "What do you want, Mentedor?"

"I come bearing gifts!" he said, with an air of grandiosity. With that he lifted a bag marked with a dollar sign and dropped it before him casually. The sound of heavy coins could be heard as the bag hit the bar. "I believe you'll find this to be more than enough to cover the damages from the...unfortunate event last week."

Roxanne looked at the bag for a very brief moment before going back to cleaning. "I told you, I don't want your stolen money."

"Stolen?" exclaimed Mentedor, holding a hand to his chest in an attempt to look offended. "Seh-nor-it-a, you wound me! Really, you mustn't make such assumptions before at least _asking_ how I attained such a vast display of wealth."

Roxanne was in no mood to indulge him. She moved to the back counter and began cleaning shot glasses. After a lengthy silence she heard the soles of his boots suddenly hit the counter and she saw in the mirror on the back wall that he was standing on the bar, gesturing broadly.

"It was my most ingenious heist to date!" he announced. "I held up a bank, but not just any bank, mind you. I pulled one over on First Metro County United!"

Roxanne actually looked over at him and arched an eyebrow at this. "Seriously?"

"Got your attention, have I?" He admired his fingernails with a smug expression on his face.

"That's the most heavily guarded bank in the county. How are you not dead?"

"Precautions, Miss Ritchi. With enough preparation, anything is possible. For me, at least."

Though she had no intention of ever admitting it out loud, Roxanne had to admit that Mentedor was, indeed, quite probably the only person in Metro County that could pull off a heist of such proportions. Despite his general idiocy, he had the knack for inventing amazing creations to assist him in his various crimes.

Given how notoriously boring Metro County and its citizens were, Roxanne couldn't help but find herself at least vaguely intrigued by some of these exploits. And since he wasn't leaving anyway, she figured she might as well casually goad him into giving her some more information. She put on her best unimpressed face and said, "Uh-huh. You hire some drunkards to do the legwork for you?"

"Hardly! Do you honestly think I would stoop to associating with the rabble when my sheer genius is more than enough to lead me to victory?" He pointed a finger at her. "Do not forget, los chick-a, to whom you are speaking! I am not some ordinary, run-of-the-mill bandit. I am El Mentedor!" As he spoke, his theme music swelled and ended at the perfect moment. He stood there a moment, posing proudly before the song "Old McDonald" started playing and threw him off guard. He turned toward the doors and grunted, "Mount!"

"Uh...sorry, señor!" came a voice from outside the saloon. After a moment the song stopped abruptly.

Mentedor looked back to Roxanne, smiled, shrugged, and shook his head. "Horses," he said, as if attempting to commiserate. Roxanne knew he was using the word in the broadest possible sense of the term. She'd seen Mount before and he certainly wasn't what the average person would consider a "horse". He was really more of a talking fish in a small tank atop the neck of a mechanical horse's body. The creature served as Mentedor's companion, as his primary mode of transportation, and as a sort of portable gramophone.

"Now, where was I?" continued Mentedor. "Ah, yes! The heist. It was a plot truly worthy of my brilliantly evil mind. Under the cloak of night, Mount and I made our way to the building. I dispatched my homemade bombs of sleeping gas into the bank, leaving the nighttime security unconscious before me. It was then I went to work replacing all the firearms in the facility with decoys! Harmless metal toys only distinguishable from the genuine article in their lack of function. Couldn't let myself get shot, you know. Terribly unseemly, that. Then, so that I could be sure the heist would go quickly and smoothly the next day, I disabled the locks on the safes. The next morning, we returned to..."

"Wait," interupted Roxanne. "You're telling me you broke into the bank, knocked out everyone there, disabled the locks, and then left without taking anything?"

Mentedor arched an eyebrow at her. "Yes, of course. Why?"

"Why didn't you just clean them out while you were first there?"

Mentedor rolled his eyes. "Because, Miss Ritchi, nobody would have been there to see me do it!"

"Um...yeah," she said. "Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"You forget that I'm evil. I'm hardly a fan of 'good things'."

"So you just set out to do everything in the dumbest way imaginable?"

"No. I just prefer a bit of flair." He grabbed the edge of his cape and tossed it dramatically around himself.

"Whatever. Look, we both know Wayne is gonna be over here looking for you any minute. If you leave now you might be able to..."

"Oh, let Sheriff Scott do his worst! I'm not afraid of that man."

"Well, could you go not be afraid of him outside? I'm still repairing my roof from the last time you guys duked it out in here." She looked up toward the semi-patched hole in the ceiling.

"A bit of property damage is to be expected when you live a life of crime."

"Granted. But why does it have to be _my_ property?"

"All part of the plan, Miss Ritchi."

"Oh, right. The 'plan'. How could I have forgotten about your mysterious 'plan'. Tell me, does your plan involve slowly putting me out of business?"

"I just brought you more than enough money to..."

"I. Don't. Want it."

"Oh, come now. Who's gonna know?"

Roxanne gestured incredulously toward all the people in the bar.

Mentedor turned to see that they were all staring intently at him. "Oh, right," he said sarcastically and rolled his eyes. He drew his gun and swung it around his finger. "Like they're gonna rat me out." The patrons quickly looked away. He cast a smug glance back at Roxanne. "They know what I'm capable of."

Roxanne knew that this statement couldn't have been further from the truth. For in all the firefights she'd seen between him and the sheriff, not once had he landed a shot that harmed another person. At first she had assumed he just had terrible aim. But upon observing him over time it had become apparent to her that he was missing on purpose. That he had no desire to harm Wayne or any of her patrons. Admittedly, she'd heard speculations of cruelties he might have committed elsewhere, but she didn't believe them for a moment. She believed what she saw. And she knew what he was capable of. Being a pain and nothing more.

"I still don't want it," she said. "It's not mine. It's wrong."

Mentedor sighed, looking a little helpless. "Come on, Roxanne, just..."

"Well, well, well!" came a booming voice from the doorway. Silhouetted against the sunlight was the large frame of Wayne Scott, sheriff of Metro County. He strutted into the saloon and looked straight at Mentedor. "First Metro County United, eh, Mentedor? Setting your sights pretty high I see."

Mentedor smiled down from his perch on the bar. "Oh, I think you'll find evil can climb to heights that goodness could never hope to reach!"

"No mountain is too tall if you bear the hiking equipment of virtue."

"But what is to stop you from tumbling down the other side into the canyon of failure?"

"Justice, my friend. The rule of the law."

"Rules are meant to be broken!"

"No, _horses_ are meant to be broken. And I'm about to tame you."

"Evil can never be tamed! You cannot silence villainy!"

"Well, I'll just have to teach you that silence is golden!"

"Fool's gold, maybe. And you're the fool!"

"Uh, ladies?" interrupted Roxanne. "Could we not do this today?"

"Don't worry about me, Roxanne," said Wayne, flashing her a smile. "I can handle him."

"Not worried about you. Worried about my bar."

A blast of concentrated energy fired right by Wayne's head, hitting the wall behind him and sending splinters flying. The patrons of the bar began fleeing or ducking for cover. Mentedor held his gun with an evil smile. Roxanne had never figured out exactly what it was that weapon fired, but it certainly wasn't conventional bullets.

"If you truely believe you can best me," said Mentedor, "you're more than welcome to try,"

"Oh, I'll do more than try!" said Wayne. With that he pulled out his two conventional guns and began firing at his opponent.

Mentedor quickly hopped down in front of the counter as the bullets hit the mirror behind the bar, shattering it. He tumbled gracefully on the floor and the two men went about firing and dodging as the rest of the bar was descended into blind panic.

Roxanne groaned, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

When she'd first met Wayne, she'd actually found him charming. She was never interested in him romantically – which is just as well, as it was common knowledge that he himself had no interest in the fairer sex – but she'd found something about his heroism very admirable. All that changed after the first few times her saloon was trashed. At least Mentedor claimed himself to be a villain when he destroyed her property. Wayne, on the other hand, was so intent on capturing Mentedor it seemed he hardly noticed the damage he caused.

Roxanne watched in familiar frustration as tabled were smashed, windows were shot out, and the hole in the ceiling was blasted open again as the two men continued their battle.

And then something different happened. One of Mentedor's blasts directly hit a wooden pillar that reached from the floor to the roof. Whether that pillar was particularly integral to the structural integrity of the building or whether the saloon had finally just given up after its years of abuse, Roxanne didn't know. But half of the building began collapsing onto itself. And as the patrons screamed and ran out the doors, all Roxanne could do was stand there and stare. Mentedor dodged the falling balcony as two of the walls and a good portion of the ceiling descended into the main area of the building, taking about a third of the saloon's total interior with it.

Roxanne continued to stand there, stunned. Seeing the saloon trashed was never a pretty sight. But this was on a different level entirely. This couldn't be fixed by buying some new tables and patching up the walls. Half the building would need to be rebuilt before her patrons could return.

If they were ever foolish enough to return.

Her eyes wandered from the destruction over to Mentedor who was looking at her with an expression she wasn't used to seeing on him. One of sincere regret.

Wayne strode over to Mentedor and picked him up by the back of his cape. "Justice has been served!" said the sheriff with a wide grin. "And you're the main course!"

Mentedor didn't bother struggling. He was too busy looking away from Roxanne guiltily.

"Time to go downtown!" Wayne continued. With that he turned and, Mentedor in hand, began walking out of the saloon.

Roxanne just kept staring at what was left of her bar, dumbstruck. Then her eyes made their way to the bag of money that still rested on the counter. She considered for a moment, then reached her hand out toward it. But before she could touch it, a larger hand came in and snatched it up. "Oh, and I'll return this to its rightful owners at the bank," said Wayne, flinging it over his shoulders with a smile. He nodded at Roxanne. "Ma'am." And then he left.

Roxanne stood alone in the remnants of her saloon as a few extra pieces of debris dropped from the ceiling into the rubble on the floor. This sucked.

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Tensions rise when Mentedor shows up unexpectantly in Roxanne's bedroom. What will happen? Will they talk? Will they quarrel? WILL THEY HAVE SEX? Tune in to find out!


	2. Chapter 2

**FBI Warning:** Good news, everyone! I now own Megamind. Or at least I will as soon as the state confirms my request to change my name to DreamWorks. So I don't have to worry about copyright anymore. From now on, all similarities to events, real or fictional, are purely deliberate. May contain traces of peanuts.

* * *

Roxanne sighed as she walked into her house and closed the door behind her. It had been a week since her saloon was all but destroyed and it felt like she'd been working non-stop trying to get it rebuilt. She'd already emptied her bank account and taken out a loan to pay for the labor. And if she stayed out of business much longer, she was worried she'd have to mortgage her home. Why did this happen to her? She'd worked so hard to make her bar a success, taken so much pride in how far she'd come, especially given the challenges she faced as a woman. Did God just hate her? No, it wasn't God. She knew who was to blame. Thankfully, she hadn't seen him ever since that day.

She made her way up the stairs and into her room. She was about to undo the ribbons on the back of her dress when a familiar voice said, "Buenos Nightos."

"Gah!" she screamed, turning to face the man who sat in the chair in the corner of her bedroom.

"Ah!" yelped Mentedor, startled by her sudden outcry.

Both of them took a moment to catch their breaths before Roxanne's frightened expression turned to a glare. She wasn't surprised that he'd managed to escape from prison, but he'd certainly never showed up at her home before. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Mentedor cleared his throat, attempting to regain what he must have considered to be an evilly suave demeanor. "Miss Ritchi, I am simply..."

"This is my _house!_"

"I am aware of this. I was just..."

"Get out! You have no right to be here!"

"If you would only take a moment to..."

"Was destroying my saloon not enough? Now you have to come into my home?"

"May I please be allowed to speak?" he said with a touch of annoyance.

Roxanne granted his request with a silent glare.

"Thank you," he said. "First of all, I would like to say that the complete and utter destruction of your business was certainly not my intent. I have every intention of reimbursing you for the damage caused. But in the meantime, I think it's best that we not allow this to be a continued source of unpleasantness between us. It was a whole week ago, after all."

Roxanne was seething.

"But that's not why I'm here," he continued. "In light of recent events, I have decided that it's time to finally move onto Phase 2 of my plan."

"You're plan has a Phase 2 now?"

"My plan has always had a Phase 2. I'm just now getting around to it."

"Huh," she said, her anger being somewhat diffused by her curiosity. "I always assumed the whole 'plan' thing was just something you said to...well, to give people the false impression you actually knew what you were doing."

"Oh, no, seh-nor-it-a. My plan is _quite_ real. You didn't really think my ultimate goal was to rob a few banks and destroy some abandoned buildings, did you?"

"So...what _is_ your plan?"

"I cannot divulge that to you yet. However, you are going to play a critical role in the next step."

"Uh, yeah. That's not happening."

"Oh, but I'm afraid it is. You see, Miss Ritchi, my next target is going to be a train heading to Polis County. This particular steam engine will be carrying a shipment of valuable gemstones that just happen to be my favorite color."

"Blue?"

Mentedor blinked. "How did you...?"

"Lucky guess."

"In any case, as I've told you before, precautions are necessary to pull off a successful caper. The less variables that present themselves, the higher your chance of success. And what I need for this particular heist is..." he reached under his cape on the chair behind him and took out a couple lengths of rope, pulling them taught with a devious smile, "...a hostage."

"Wait. You came here to kidnap me?"

Mentedor stood up. "'Kidnapping' is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"I don't think you understand what the word 'mutually' means."

"You're just going to have to trust me on this one, Roxanne. I assure you, you'll thank me later." He strode toward her casually, moving a finger in the air in a downward circle, "Now, if you would kindly turn around and put your hands behind your back, I..."

A chair crashed into his face and body, knocking him to the ground and sending pieces of wood flying. Roxanne held the remnants of the chair in her hand, looking down at him with great hostility.

"What are you doing?" he yelled.

"Defending myself. Now get out of my house before I do it again!"

He stumbled up to his feet. "Look, I'm sure we can reach some sort of understanding if you simply..."

She pummeled him with another chair, this time the one he had been sitting on before. This sent him flying across the room toward the top of the stairway as the chair splintering into pieces.

"I need to get more durable chairs," Roxanne noted to herself.

Mentedor stood up, looking angry now. "Miss Ritchi, I have no wish to harm you. But if you continue to..."

She hit him with a third chair, this time sending him and pieces of the chair tumbling down the stairs. He lay at the bottom with his cape over his head and for a moment she was worried that she may have accidentally broken his neck. But then he started to move again.

He lifted the cape and yelled, "_How many chairs do you have in that room?_"

Roxanne saw that she had, in fact, depleted her supply of bedroom chairs and so she decided to go to Plan B. She moved quickly to her closet and pulled out her shotgun, then began walking downstairs with it pointed in front of her. Mentedor was getting up and brushing himself off when he saw her and gasped.

"I mean it, Mentedor," she said, pointing the gun at his large head. "Get. Out."

"Okay, okay, okay!" he said, waving his hands in front of him. "You win. I'll just...be on my way now." He started to back slowly toward the door and Roxanne relaxed a little. "Just..." he added, "...one last thing..."

Roxanne listened, curiously.

He suddenly pounced across the room toward her, grabbing the gun. In her shock she loosened her grip, which allowed him to yank it away from her. He threw it onto the couch where it went off automatically, firing a bullet through one of her windows. Great, he really as wrecking her house too.

She hurried toward the gun, but he intercepted her, throwing her to the ground. She landed on her arm and let out a cry of pain as the skin between her shoulder and elbow hit the floorboards. She rolled onto her stomach and tried to get up, but he was quickly on top of her, straddling her lower back. Roxanne grunted and struggled as he grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her. She could hear him laughing a low, villainous laugh as he tied her wrists together with one of the ropes. He then repositioned himself and used the other rope to bind her ankles as she squirmed to make his job as difficult as possible. Once her feet were secure, he knelt beside her pulled a piece of cloth over her mouth and knotted tightly behind her head.

He stood and looked down at her as she wriggled on the ground like a dying fish. Then he pressed his boot against her side, turning her onto her back so that she was looking up at him. "HA!" he yelled, pointing a finger at her face.

She glared up at him, mumbling incoherently through the cloth.

He straightened and began pacing slowly back and forth, smiling. "You see, Miss Ritchi? If you'd simply welcomed me into your humble case-a and done as I asked, this whole ugly ordeal could have been avoided. I hope you know, I expect you to be on much better behavior during the train ride."

Roxanne grunted, angrily.

Mentedor let out a soft, dark laugh, tapping the tips of his fingers together. "Soon now. Very soon my plan will come together. And then, nothing will be able to stop me! Not the sheriff. Not the bounty hunters. Not all of Metro Conda-doo!"

He kneeled back along side Roxanne and leaned in, his face hovering closely over hers. "Oh ho ho, they'll see. Soon they shall _all_ see. Yes, it won't be long now before the entire county is within my evil grasp!" On the word 'grasp' he clenched his open hand into a fist. He had intended to grasp at the air in a dramatic gesture, but apparently he miscalculated how close he was to Roxanne. His hand closed around her left breast and her eyes bulged.

He let out a startled yelp, letting go immediately, and jumping back a good two feet. He stood there looking at her in horror. She simply stared back at him, for a moment too shocked to be angry.

Mentedor's eyes darted nervously around before looking at her, apologetically. "Okay..." he said, raising a finger, "that was my bad."

Roxanne's initial shock had worn off. If looks could kill, everyone in the greater Metro County area would have perished right then.

Mentedor looked genuinely intimidated by her glare, and again directed his gaze elsewhere in the room. He rubbed the back of his neck and appeared to be trying to think of something to say. "So...uh...guess I owe you for the chairs too, huh?" He gave a small, nervous laugh and looked back at her.

Her hate-filled eyes continued to pierce into him.

"R...Roxanne, I, uh..."

"Señor!" cried a distressed voice from outside the front door. "Are you okay in there?"

"Mount?" replied Mentedor, moving over to the door. He opened it to see his friend standing there with a worried expression. "I thought I told you to stay hidden until I gave the signal."

"I'm sorry, señor, but I heard the gunshot and...and..."

"Everything's okay, Mount," said Mentedor, smiling and putting his hand affectionately on his companion's mechanical neck. The fish smiled back at him. "And look!" continued Mentedor, gesturing over at Roxanne with a huge grin. "Miss Ritchi has agreed to help us!"

"Oh, that's wonderful, señor!"

Roxanne tried yelling an objection, but the cloth only allowed her to grunt some muffled sounds of discontent.

"Well then!" said Mentedor. "We'd best be on our way." He walked over to Roxanne and, with more than a little effort, flung her over his shoulder. Mount bent down, allowing his master to climb on his back. Mentedor set Roxanne down in front of him and grabbed the reigns. "Hi ho, Mount! Away!"

"You got it, boss!"

And they were off.

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Mount finally gets a bit more screentime, a new derivative character makes a cameo, and the train departs from the station. Can Roxanne escape? Will Mentedor succeed in looting the train? Is there going to be sex at some point in this fic? Join us next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**FBI Warning:** Okay, so it turns out changing your name to DreamWorks does not, in fact, grant you rights to the company's content. Also, it appears that FBI warnings can only be issued by a particular bureau of the government (not sure which one). Needless to say, this fanfic has gotten me in some rather deep legal trouble. Or at least I assume it will. After careful consideration I've decided that the best course of action is to change my name to Tiberia Jones, move to Uzbekistan, and live out the rest of my life as a beekeeper. But don't worry, I'll continue writing the fanfic too.

* * *

It might have been hard to see where they were heading had it not been for the glow emanating from Mount's tank. The fish's mechanical horse body had a good number of songs programmed into it, and he tried to pick the cheeriest ones to play in an effort to lift spirits of their bound and gagged guest. It didn't seem to be working.

A light Italian folk song came to an end as they reached the train station. Mentedor dismounted with a hop and headed toward the ticket booth, leaving his companion to look after Roxanne. The fish turned in his tank to smile at her, only to be greeted with the same annoyed expression she'd worn ever since they'd picked her up. Mount felt like he should say something, but he didn't know what. "So..." he tried. "How's life treating you?"

Roxanne looked back at him, her expression unchanging.

Mount looked a little embarrassed. "Oh, right, I guess you can't really speak right now, can you? Well, uh..." He glanced off to the side for a moment before looking back at her. "We're, uh...we're really glad to have you on board! I realize this might have not been..." his expression faltered, "...entirely...your choice, but..." He smiled again. "Well, it's nice to have you along anyways! Heh!"

Roxanne sighed, looking somewhat depressed.

Mount frowned then and looked around to make sure Mentedor wasn't within hearing range. He swam closer to Roxanne and spoke softly. "Look, I really am sorry about all this. Señor Mentedor, he's...don't tell him I said this, but he's really not a bad person. Honestly, he feels just terrible about what happened to your saloon and he really does want to find a way to make it up to you. Admittedly, kidnapping you might not exactly have been the...uh...well, he just has his own way of doing things. But he wouldn't harm you. Er...not on purpose anyway. What I mean to say is..." The fish paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "Señor Mentedor has had a rough time of it for awhile now. And now that he's got this plan, he..."

"Okay!" said Mentedor, returning with the tickets. "I have procured the tickets! Mount, this train has special boxcars for transporting horses, so you're going to ride in one of those."

"That's blatant discrimination!" Mount looked legitimately annoyed.

"Yes, well, I don't make the rules."

"Since when do you care about the rules?"

"Oh, stop being difficult, Mount. Come along now."

They made their way over to one of the said boxcars where a handler was herding horses inside. Mentedor hoisted Roxanne off Mount's back and flung her over his shoulder. "Oof!" he said. "You really need to lose some weight."

Roxanne grunted angrily.

"See you later, señor!" said Mount.

"Take care, my pal-migos!"

Mentedor turned and made his way to the passenger cars. There he was greeted by a bored-looking, bespectacled man.

"Tickets," said the stranger, in a low, nasally voice.

As Mentedor held out the tickets, Roxanne began to squirm and struggle, trying to call out for help from under the cloth. She managed to lock eyes with the man inspecting the tickets, who looked from her back to Mentedor with a furrowed brow, seemingly not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

"Honeymoon!" explained Mentedor, brightly.

Roxanne shook her head, using her eyes to plead with the man and continuing to make muffled noises of distress.

The man looked back at Mentedor and sighed. "Whatever," he said and motioned for him to get onboard.

"Grace-yace!" replied Mentedor and carried an incredulous Roxanne on board. He made his way down the aisle of private cabins until he reached the one that the tickets indicated was theirs. He opened the door and carried his hostage inside, setting her down on a small upholstered bench on one side of the tiny room, closing the door, and taking a seat across from her. He flung one leg over another and gave her a smug smile. She continued to glare squarely at him, which after a few moments seemed to make him a bit uncomfortable. He turned his focus to look out the window.

Eventually the whistle could be heard and the train began moving. Roxanne watched the desert passing outside as they departed from the station. She glanced back to Mentedor who seemed to be lost in thought. Annoyed, she mumbled three syllables through the cloth, which caught his attention.

"Hm?" he asked.

She said it again, but again her words were muffled.

"Did you wish to say something?" he asked.

She repeated the words more emphatically.

He hesitated for a moment, then stood, reached behind her head, untied the cloth, and pulled it away. "What?" he asked.

"I hate you."

"Ah," he said, nodding, apparently not particularly surprised at the sentiment. He sat back down. There was a long silence between them before he asked her, "So, is this your first time on a loco-moo-ee?"

"On a what?"

"It's Spanish for train, Miss Ritchi."

"Okay, seriously, who taught you Spanish?"

"Nobody taught me. It's my native tongue."

"You honestly expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you will, seh-nor-it-a. It's the truth!"

"So if I wanted to have a conversation with you in Spanish, you'd be okay with that?"

This seemed to give him pause, but then he said with what seemed to be an attempt to look confident, "Do your worst!"

"Okay," said Roxanne. The truth was, she didn't know much Spanish herself. She searched her mind for something she actually knew how to say before finally settling on, "Donde esta la biblioteca?"

Mentedor's eyes darted around, as if he was searching for an answer. Then he grinned, pointed a finger at her, and shouted, "Sí!"

"Wow," she said. "You sure showed me."

Mentedor settled back in his seat, smiling and putting his hands behind his head proudly.

"So, okay," said Roxanne. "Now that we're here, are you gonna tell me about this big plan of yours or what?"

"I'm afraid you cannot know about that just yet, but it will all become clear in time."

Roxanne let out and exasperated grunt. "Well, could you at least untie me? These ropes are getting really uncomfortable and it's not exactly like I've really got anywhere to escape to."

He considered this for a moment. "Do you promise not to...um...attack me again?"

"I don't see any chairs in here."

"Fair enough," he said. He stood again and stepped beside her. He started reaching for the ropes and then stopped abruptly, gasping and pulling his hand back a little. She looked over to him and saw an incredibly pained expression on his face. It reminded her of the day her bar had been totaled, only now he looked even more remorseful. She followed his line of sight to her arm and saw it. A very large purple bruise surrounded by an aura of yellow skin. It was located right where she had hit the floor when he'd thrown her to the ground. She looked back to him to see him wincing. He didn't make eye contact with her as he carefully undid the ropes around her wrists. Once her hands were free, she brought them in front of her and massaged her wrists as he went to work untying her legs. Then he sat back down in his seat and looked back out the window.

Some time passed without either of them saying anything. Roxanne briefly considered making a break for it, but then decided against it. She really wasn't up for another grappling match and certainly didn't want to be tied up again. And even if she did make it out into the dining car it would probably only serve to catalyze the beginning of his heist. She figured she might as well take advantage of this moment of peace. She looked out the window into the darkness. There really wasn't much to see out there. She turned back to Mentedor. "So, Mount seems nice," she said.

Mentedor looked at her, seeming a little surprised. Then he smiled. "Ah, yes, Mount is the best. He's been my loyal servant ever since we were children."

"Huh. That's neat. I had a goldfish when I was ten, but I forgot to feed it and it died."

Mentedor arched and eyebrow.

Roxanne suddenly felt a little foolish. "So, that robot body," she said. "You made that for him?" She already knew the answer, but she wanted to move on from the goldfish comment.

"Of course," he replied. "I developed a prototype when I was three and have been updating it ever since."

"You were inventing things when you were three?"

"Oh, please," he said, sounding insulted. "I was inventing things _far_ earlier than that. I'm not your run-of-the-mill, everyday genius, you know."

"I don't think I can even remember when I was three."

"Really? God, how old are you?"

Roxanne looked irritated.

"Anyways," continued Mentedor, "yes, Mount really is a fantastic fillet. But...well, strange. I mean, charming though he may be, it's not exactly like he has somewhere to fit in. I can't imagine what it must be like for him. To be so...different." If Mentedor had intended this statement to be ironic, it didn't show.

"Have you ever considered letting him try to interact with other sea creatures? Maybe taking him to the ocean?"

"Well, given that he's a _freshwater_ fish I don't exactly think that would be in his best interest," Mentedor replied with a hint of disdain. But then he considered her words and continued. "Still...I suppose if I found a lake it could be an interesting...social experiment. I imagine him having quite a presence. He could probably do quite well with the lady fishies. Like a...like a little, aquatic Sheriff Scott."

"Yeah, well, if he's anything like the sheriff, it won't be the lady fishies he ends up with."

Mentedor looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Roxanne paused. "You do know that Wayne's queer, right?"

"Well, he can be a little odd, yes, but I was under the impression women found his mannerisms charming."

"No, I mean he's gay."

"Indeed, he does frequently seem to be in good spirits, but..."

"He has sex with other men."

Mentedor blinked, a bewildered expression on his face. "Wait...what?"

"I thought everyone in Metro County knew that."

"Sex with other...?" His eyes had left hers and were wandering the cabin as if searching for some sort of explanation of what he had just heard. He looked down at his hands and stretched out his two index fingers, then started quizzically hitting the ends of them together. "How would that...even work?"

"Well, not like that."

"Huh." Mentedor put down his hands, still apparently trying to wrap his large head around the concept. Then his expression transformed to one of disappointment and he crossed his arms in front of him.

"Something wrong?" asked Roxanne.

"Well...it's just..._I'm_ another man. And he never tried to have sex with _me_."

Roxanne arched an eyebrow. "Would you _want_ him to?"

"No!" said Mentedor, looking at her with disgust. "God, no! But it would have been polite for him to have at least asked!"

Roxanne giggled.

"Did...?" said Mentedor, looking at her with surprise before an inquisitive smirk stretched across his face. "Did you just laugh?"

"No!" she said, crossing her own arms and looking away angrily. The truth was, she was even more surprised than Mentedor was that he had actually elicited a giggle from her. Roxanne never laughed. Not in the presence of Mentedor, not in the presence of anyone else, and not when she was alone. And the thought that she might be giving Mentedor the impression that there was any part of this whole debacle that she found enjoyable was infuriating to her.

Mentedor let out a quiet, evil chuckle which just made her angrier. Then he went silent and when she finally looked back to him, he was gazing out the window again.

"We should be getting close to where we're going to make our move," he said, all business. "Littlesburg is off that way. It'll be a trek, but if everything goes smoothly we should be able to make it there by midday." He pulled out his gun. "Get up."

"Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this?" asked Roxanne, standing up hesitantly.

Mentedor got behind her, holding the barrel to her back. "I'm afraid not, Miss Ritchi. Let's go."

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Trouble on the railways when the heist doesn't go according to plan! What could this mean for our heroes...or...I mean villains...or...whatever. Protagonists? Yes, that works! What lies in store for our protagonists? Will they successfully protagonize? Will Roxanne and Mentedor get a chance to have sex during the caper? Join us to find out! Same mente time! Same mente channel!


	4. Chapter 4

**FBI Warning:** So, my brave attempt to cowardly flee to Uzbekistan was thwarted when I realized I didn't have enough money to buy a plane ticket. The stress of this whole ordeal had gotten to be all too much, so I turned myself in. But when I told the police I was ready to plead guilty to the charge of writing a fanfic without express written consent of DreamWorks, they just kinda looked at me like I was crazy and sent me back home. So it looks like I'm good for now.

* * *

"Okay, now remember your role," said Mentedor quietly as they made their way into the dining car, his gun still to Roxanne's back.

"And what would that be?" she asked, annoyed.

"Just pretend to be someone who really doesn't want to get shot."

"I really _don't_ want to get shot!"

"That's the spirit!" Mentedor squinted his eyes and surveyed the room. People were talking and eating peacefully. An evil grin overtook his face. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, ready to begin his diabolical speech.

"Alright, nobody move!" yelled a voice that was distinctly not Mentedor's. Four large men brandishing guns stood up. It was the largest of them that spoke. "We're taking control of this train! Everybody hand over your wallets and purses and nobody dies!"

Roxanne looked over at Mentedor, who was positively shocked.

"This..." said Mentedor quietly, with visible irritation, "...this wasn't part of the plan!" He gritted his teeth.

"Please tell me you're not gonna try anything _now_," whispered Roxanne.

"What, are you crazy? They'd murder me!"

"Jewelry in the bag too!" yelled one of the men, moving around with a large sack. "Come on!"

"You!" yelled the largest of the group, pointing at the bespectacled man who had checked Mentedor's tickers earlier. "Go to the storage and get the sapphires. And don't try anything funny if you want the passengers to live!"

The bespectacled man let out a big sigh and rolled his eyes, clearly not appreciating this inconvenience. "Alright," he said and made his way out of the car.

Roxanne looked around at the various passengers that cowered in fear. Then she saw one of the bandits walking right toward her. He stopped in front of her, looking her up and down with a cruel smile. Then he turned to the largest of the men. "Hey, boss," he said. "Think you can take care of things without me for a few minutes?"

The leader of the group gave him a disapproving look, but conceded. "Just be quick about it."

The eager man grabbed Roxanne's arm and attempted to lead her away.

"Get your hands off me!" she yelled, yanking herself free.

Annoyed, the man grabbed her arm again, painfully tight, and began all but dragging her toward a door leading to one of the neighboring cars. Roxanne looked back toward Mentedor and the two of them exchanged terrified stares. Her eyes left his as she was yanked forward violently, stumbling next to the man who continued walking at a steady pace.

It was then she heard the sound of boots hitting a tabletop.

"Alright, nobody move!" yelled Mentedor. "I'm hijacking this train!"

The man who had been leaving with Roxanne stopped and turned. All eyes went to Mentedor who was standing on a table in between an old couple, pointing his gun quickly in various directions so that he appeared to be aiming and anything and everything in the room.

"What the...?" said the leader of the bandits.

"That's correct!" said Mentedor, holding his gun up and flinging his cape. "You have all fallen prey to the evil genius that is El Mentedor!"

All four of the men cocked their guns and aimed directly at the small blue man.

"Oh ho ho!" laughed Mentedor. "You ignorant, little delinquents! None of you shall dare harm me! For you see, I have..." he aimed his gun across the room at Roxanne, "...a hostage!"

Roxanne facepalmed.

Just then, one of the doors leading out to another car flew open. "Alright, nobody move!" said Wayne, entering with a confident smile.

"Sheriff!" said Mentedor, overjoyed.

"Mentedor!" said Wayne, in an accusing tone. "I figured you'd be after the sapphires! Not feeling blue enough as it is?"

"Better to be blue than yellow! Very soon now, the gems will be..."

"Oh, my God!" interrupted Roxanne. "Would you shut up already?" She looked at Wayne and gestured at the bandits. "Wayne, these are the four you have to worry about. _They're_ the dangerous ones."

"Hey!" said Mentedor, indignantly. "_Nobody_ is more dangerous than I am!"

Wayne's attention had turned to the bandits now. "Ah, the Narthson Brothers! I didn't expect to run into such notorious criminals in Metro County."

"Excuse me!" said Mentedor, waving his hand in the air. "Super-suave, mega-minded villain here!"

The leader turned his attentions to Wayne. "If you value your life, you'll do as you're told."

"Oh, come on!" shouted Mentedor. "You call _that_ banter?"

It wasn't entirely clear whether the first shot came from Wayne or one of the bandits. But soon passengers were ducking under tables as bullet flew through the room. Suddenly Roxanne felt a hand on her wrist and Mentedor pulled her toward a door leading to one of the neighboring cars. She didn't try to resist. They made their way through the train until Mentedor ran straight into someone, sending all three falling to the ground. Roxanne looked up to see the bespectacled man sitting before them, gripping a box and looking slightly dazed.

"I'll take that!" said Mentedor, smiling widely and grabbing the box. He stood up, putting the container under one arm and using his free hand to grab Roxanne's wrist again. Roxanne let out a startled yelp as he hoisted her to her feet and began running with her once more.

She looked back at the man who was still sitting on the ground, shaking his head in confusion. She was tempted yell back an apology before she recalled that he was the same one who didn't raise a finger to help her when she was being carried onto the train. She focused her attention back on where she was going as her captor lead her quickly onward.

Eventually they reached a boxcar that was full of horses. "Mount?" called Mentedor.

"Señor?"

Mentedor made his way over to his companion.

"Was the heist successful?" asked the fish.

Mentedor held up the box smugly. Mount smiled and triggered a panel on the side of his suit to open.

"By the way, remind me to send Sheriff Scott a gift basket," said Mentedor, sliding the box inside the robotic body. The opening closed and Mentedor hopped onto the back of the mechanical suit, pulling Roxanne up in front of him. "Apparently he'd anticipated my being here and decided to make his entrance about two seconds before I was to be riddled with bullets by some petty criminal amateurs."

"Oh! You're not hurt, are you, señor?"

"Thankfully not." Mentedor pulled out his gun and blasted the lock on the side of the boxcar. "Speaking of the sheriff...were you aware he has sex with...uh...men?"

"I thought everyone in Metro County knew that." Mount galloped toward the side of the train and making a running jump to the desert outside. He hit the ground and sped off across the desert, not seeming at all weighed down by his two passengers or the box inside his mechanical body.

Roxanne glanced back toward the railroad. Perhaps she should have tried to escape from Mentedor while he was pulling her through the train. She'd been so relieved to be out of that horrible situation with the bandits, putting up a struggle against her annoying blue companion had hadn't really occurred to her. But now she wished it had. Wayne would defeat the bandits; she knew he would. And then he'd come looking for her. And she'd be gone. She sighed.

She looked up ahead to the mountains on the horizon as Mount continued to gallop across the vast plain. Roxanne's mind wandered back to the bungled heist and, despite all the odd occurrences of the night, one thing in particular confused her. Mentedor had told Mount that the bandits were seconds away from killing him when Wayne showed up. That meant that, despite his antic nature, he understood the danger he was in. Heck, Mentedor had told her _himself_ that the criminals would likely murder him if he somehow interfered. So why did he knowingly make himself a target when he could have just hunkered down? She knew it was common practice for him to put himself in a certain amount of unnecessary danger, all in the name of stage presence. But was it really something he'd be willing to just blatantly throw his life away over?

Or had it been for her? When she'd looked back at him as she was being pulled away, she'd seen honest terror in his face. Had he been trying to protect her, even knowing that his actions would probably get him killed and likely not make the slightest difference in her fate? But if he cared enough to do that, then why did he insist on committing all the thoughtless deeds that made her life so difficult? Was he really that clueless about the consequences his actions had on her?

It was strange. Sometimes Mentedor seemed just as oblivious as...well, as everyone else in the county. And then other times she would catch a look that indicated there was something more going on in that oversized head of his.

She supposed it didn't really matter either way. Speculating about that strange man was something other people did. She just wanted to go home.

She expected they were headed to the town Mentedor had mentioned on the train. He'd said they'd make it there by midday. And it was still dark out. It had been a long, stressful night and she found that she had grown rather weary. She crossed her arms on Mount's tank, leaned forward onto them, and closed her eyes.

Then Mount's robotic suit began projecting a lullaby. A hint of a smile came over her face and she dozed off.

* * *

**Preview:** Next time, on a very special chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Mentedor's plan is finally revealed, and the comedy tag is subverted in favor of a good, old fashion bowl of drama. This is a chapter to read with the whole family. Also, there may or may not be gratuitous sex.


	5. Chapter 5

**FBI Warning:** Okay, so I know I promised you some drama in this chapter. But this particular installment was getting rather long, and it clearly states in my Section B, Paragraph 19 of my contract that no chapter of this story is allowed to exceed 3,249 words. So the drama will have to wait for the next chapter. This chapter will be fairly light. The next one will be...less light. No brainbots were harmed in the making of this fanfiction.

* * *

"Señor? Señorita?"

Roxanne opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with a large-eyed, sharp-toothed fish-monster. She shrieked.

Mentedor, who had fallen asleep lying backwards on top of Mount, jumped up and pulled out his gun. "Mount, the pies have become sentient!" he yelled, waving his weapon around frantically.

Meanwhile, a startled Mount had swum down into the neck of his horse body. He waited in the darkness until the chaos above finally seemed to be dying down, then cautiously came up and peeked out into the visible area of the tank. "We're, uh...we're here."

Once Roxanne caught her breath, she took in her surroundings. It seemed to be about midmorning, based on the position of the sun. There were a few people out and about on the roads of the small town. It occurred to her that she could probably escape if she made a break for it. But that still left the issue of getting home, which as of now she wasn't sure she could do on her own. Plus she found that she'd become rather hungry. She turned to Mentedor. "They serve food in this place?"

It didn't take long for them to find a restaurant. Mount remained outside, munching away on sprinkles of fish food, while Mentedor and Roxanne made their way inside and sat down at a table.

"Order anything you like," said Mentedor, with a smile. "You've earned it."

She gave him a bored look. "Could you please be just a little more condescending?"

"Condescen...?" he said with sincere confusion. "I wasn't being condescending! I was being polite!"

"Trust me on this one. You have a special knack for being a smug, little creep."

Mentedor rolled his eyes. "Very well, Miss Ritchi. We'll say that I'm condescending if it will make you happy."

"Honestly, Mentedor, half the things you say just make me want to punch you in the face."

"And the other half?" he asked with a hopeful smirk.

Roxanne sighed. It was too early for this. Thankfully it was at this moment that a waitress came up to their table.

"Can, uh..." asked the waitress, looking nervously at the strange blue man. "Can I take your orders?"

Roxanne spoke up. "I'll have a tequila sunrise and ten pulled-pork sandwiches."

"Ten?" asked Mentedor.

"You said I could order anything."

"Well, yes, but...are you honestly going to eat all of those?"

"You're paying, right?"

"Well, yes..."

"Make it fifteen."

Mentedor sighed and apparently decided not to press his luck further. "Let's see...and I'll have a salad with a side of beans and a slice of non-sentient pie. Oh, and could you make it snappy, for pavor?"

"Uh...of course, sir," said the uncomfortable waitress, before leaving quickly.

"Well, she seemed terrified," noted Roxanne.

"Yes, I do tend to have that effect on people," said Mentedor. "I suppose my reputation for villainy precedes me."

"And I'm sure your blue skin and giant head have nothing to do with it."

"Those...may also be factors."

"You do tend to call attention to yourself. But, then, I guess that's kinda your thing, isn't it? Really, I'm surprised you aren't mobbed by bounty hunters every time you go out in public."

"Oh, I face the occasional bounty hunter. But most of them are smart enough to leave me alone."

"Yes, because you're _so_ dangerous."

"Most of the citizens of Metro County seem to think so."

"Yeah, well, most of the citizens of Metro County are idiots."

Mentedor looked positively delighted that she'd just said that. "I couldn't agree more. So," he said, getting comfortable in his chair, "how was it you came to own your own bar anyway?"

"You mean the one you destroyed?"

"No, the other one," he replied, sarcastically. "And just so you know, once I sell the gems, your cut of the money will be more than enough to pay for any repairs you need."

"My cut?"

"Of course. I thought you played your role quite well back there."

"I've already told you, I'm not going to take your stolen money."

"But you have no problem spending it on an exorbitant number of sandwiches."

This gave her pause. She hadn't really considered that this was, in a sense, the same thing. Well, too late to worry about it now.

"I have a black market contact in this town," continued Mentedor when it was clear Roxanne didn't have a retort for him. "I plan to meet with him later today. The sooner we can get rid of the gems, the better."

"And then you'll take me back home?"

"I'm afraid not. The plan is still in progress and I'm going to require your services again. But once it succeeds or...fails...I'll be more than happy to escort you safely to wherever you wish to go."

"How long will it take before you're finished with your 'plan'?"

"Not too long, I imagine."

"And you're still not going to tell me what it is?"

"Not yet. But when I do, I think you're going to quite like it."

"Right," she said, obviously not buying that.

"So, were you going to tell me about how you came to own that bar of yours?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just making conversation while we wait for our food."

Roxanne paused. "I made a risky investment that paid off in the long run."

"Oh?" Mentedor leaned forward, putting an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his fist. "That sounds rather Diablo-olical. Care to elaborate?"

"Y...your order, sir!" interrupted the waitress. She seemed to be having trouble balancing all the dishes, and was relieved when Mentedor sat back, allowing her to place everything on the table before them. Roxanne looked at the giant platter of fifteen sandwiches and, though she knew she probably wouldn't actually eat more than two, felt oddly gluttonous. "Let me know if you need anything else," said the waitress, then moved away before they had time to respond.

Roxanne picked up a sandwich and took a bite. It tasted amazingly good and she quickly found herself chowing down with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Mentedor ate his salad with what seemed to be an attempt at restrained sophistiation, but given that it appeared he's never learned how to properly hold a fork, just came off looking awkward.

They sat eating in silence for awhile. Once Roxanne had finished with her first sandwich, she licked the barbeque sauce off her fingers and picked up another. "Want one?" she asked Mentedor.

He grimaced slightly at the pile of sandwiches. "That's...really alright."

She took a bite and spoke with her mouth full. "Come on, try one. They're good!"

"I don't...uh..." He seemed to be embarressed about something, but she couldn't tell what.

Then she looked at his own order and noticed something. "Are you a vegatarian?"

"Heh! No, of course not!" he said, laughing. "Don't be rediculous!" She took this as a 'yes'.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a vegetarian. You have trouble digesting meat or something?"

"It's not that, it's just...the thought of injesting the tattered carcass of a formerly living creature has always struck me as very...base."

"You don't know what you're missing out on," she told him, then sucked some sauce off her thumb.

Mentedor looked uncomfortable and went back to eating his own meal. He finished the last of his food around the time Roxanne had polished off her second sandwhich.

"Oof!" said Roxanne, flopping back in her chair. "I'm stuffed."

"Well, that was certainly some brilliant forthought on your behalf! What exactly are we going to do with thirteen uneaten pulled-pork sandwiches?"

"We'll take care of that. How was your meal?"

"I rather gusta-d it myself."

"Well, pay the bill and gather up the sandwiches. I'm gonna wait outside."

"Now hold on a minute! When exactly did _you_ start calling the shots around here?"

Roxanne didn't answer that, instead standing and walking outside. She stepped out onto the dirt road, smelled the dust in the air and felt the sun on her skin. Maybe it was the food or fact that she wasn't in eminant danger, but she found herself in much better spirits than she had been since last night. After a little while, Mentedor emerged from the restaraunt, clumsily balancing six sandwiches in one hand and seven in the other.

"Okay," said Roxanne. "Is there somewhere in this town where the less fortunate tend to live?"

"There are always a few beggers down that way. Why?"

"Well, we gotta do something with these sandwiches."

Mentedor perked up. "Are we going to throw them at the homeless? That does sound entertaining!"

"I was thinking we'd just hand them out politely."

Mentedor frowned. "That doesn't seem very evil."

"Come on, let's go."

Roxanne quickly learned that with Mentedor and Mount's present, people were hesitant to trust the food given to them. Eventually she just had the two of them stand a ways back while she'd take a few sandwiches and distribute them to the hungry. Mentedor maintained a sour expression in Roxanne's presence, although she could have sworn she'd caught the brief glimps of a smile on one of her trips back to him. Mount, on the other hand, was practically beaming throughout the whole thing.

"Okay, that's the last of them," said Roxanne once their supply had been depleated.

"Now that we're finished wasting time," said Mentedor, "let's make our way to..."

Roxanne saw it as it happened. The rider was driving the horse faster that he should have been, and when the animal's hoof caught in the crevice near the side of the building, the whole creature went down, sending the rider tumbling. The pop of the horse's leg and the subsequent agonizing neighing drew the focus of everyone around. The rider didn't appear to be hurt too badly and he stumbled back to inspect the wounded animal.

When Roxanne looked over, she saw that both Mentedor and Mount had very pained expressions on their faces. All three knew that the horse was done for. "Let's go," she said. "I don't want to watch this."

Mentedor seemed to be considering something. He looked over at the horse, then down at the ground, then back at the horse again before turning to Roxanne. "Uh...you go," he said. "Take yourself shopping or something. I...just remembered I have something to take care of around here."

Roxanne arched an eyebrow. He was voluntarily letting her out of his sight? Well, no reason to question a good thing. She walked away, rounded a corner of a building, then stopped. What was he up to? She turned and peaked around the side of the building to see Mentedor running up to the rider who was now aiming a gun at the horse's head. Mentedor held his hand up, looking paniced. The two figures began talking, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. Seriously, what was he doing? Shouldn't he just let the poor creature be put out of its misery? Roxanne continued watching, squinting her eyes, hoping to get some answers. Then it occured to her she was wasting valueable time. This would be the perfect chance for her to find out if there was a way back home that didn't involve Mentedor dragging her into another dangerous situation. She turned and left to seek out information.

Upon asking around she found that the closest train station was, in fact, the one near her home. And between that station and Littlesburg was a vast stretch of desert, not suitable for traveling by foot. If she wanted to get back, she'd need help. Maybe she could hitch a ride on a wagon that was heading in that direction? If she could find one, that is. She really was off in the boonies.

Her search was continuing to prove fruitless by the time she heard his voice. "Ah, there you are!" Mentedor and Mount hurried up to her, both with huge smiles on their faces.

"Uh...hey," she said, looking at them suspiciously. "What happened to the horse?"

"Oh, the horse is dead!" said Mentedor, cheerily.

"Dead. As. A. Doornail!" chimed in Mount, with a huge smile.

"Deceased!"

"Caput!"

"Hass-ta la viss-ta!"

"Riding the gravy train to the shores of the river Styx!"

Roxanne gave them a sideways glance, not sure what to make of all this. But she decided not to press it. "Okay, so now what?"

"Ah, thank you for asking," said Mentedor. He hopped onto Mount's back and sat down. "Now we unload our spoils for a healthy profit." He held out his hand to Roxanne.

Roxanne was a little startled at being told she was about to go somewhere without the traditional manhandling she'd come to expect from her kidnapper. She was almost insulted that he would think she'd go with him willingly. Still, he did seem to be her only chance at getting back home, at least for the time-being. She grimaced, hesitantly took his hand, and let him help her up onto Mount.

As they made their way down the dirt roads, Roxanne noticed a good many people staring as they passed. Men gaped, women gasped, babes shrieked.

Mentedor and Mount didn't even seem to notice.

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Quarrelling. Revelations. Drama. Angst. Sex? Find out. Okay, thank you, goodbye.


	6. Chapter 6

**FBI Warning:** This chapter contains dangerously low levels of funny. It is strongly recommended you take a humor supplement before reading this chapter. Professional drivers are on a closed course. Do not attempt this at home.

* * *

Eventually, Roxanne began to notice that Mount was gradually drifting toward the right-hand side of the road, to the point where if things continued this way, they'd go directly into the wall of a nearby building. Apparently Mentedor noticed too. "Mount?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, uh..." Mount steadied his course and the fish turned in his tank to face them. There were bags under his eyes. "Sorry about that, señor. I guess I let my mind wander a little there."

Roxanne spoke up. "You look exhausted. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Well...uh...not exactly." Mount yawned.

"You should pull over."

"Hey!" said Mentedor, indignantly. "Don't tell my horse what to do! Mount, pull over!"

"But, señor! I'm supposed to take you to the dealer!"

"It's not a far walk from here. You need your sleep. Now don't question me."

"Yes, señor," said the fish, gratefully, and found a place to stop on the side of the road.

Mentedor hopped down. "Come along, Roxanne."

"You know what?" she said. "I think I'll stay here. Seedy dealers aren't exactly my cup of tea."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you join me."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you go jump in a pit of quicksand."

Mentedor sighed, pulled out his gun, and pointed it at her head. "Don't make me use this, Miss Ritchi."

She smirked. "Oh, come on, Mentedor. We both know you're not going to shoot me."

He looked a little stumped by this. Then his face brightened and he turned to shoot a blast of energy at a window of a nearby shop, causing the glass to shatter. "Ah, the joys of property damage," he said, firing some more shots into various walls and windows around them. "Just like old times, eh, Roxanne?"

Roxanne let out a disapproving grunt and got down from Mount.

"Oh, wonderful!" said Mentedor, lowering his gun and smiling widely. "You've decided to join me!" He flipped cape dramatically and started down the street. "This way."

She followed him, clearly annoyed. "What do you need me for anyway? Can't you just do this yourself?"

"Of course I can. But black-market trading is a valuable skill that you would be wise to learn. Consider this your first lesson for the day."

"What am _I_ going to need to know about black-market trading for? In case you've forgotten, I run a legitimate business. A business I'd very much like to get back to if that's perfectly alright with you."

"Oh, forgive me for taking you away from the exciting lifestyle that is mopping up the vomit of incapacitated drunkards."

Roxanne glared at the back of his large head. "I'll have you know there's a lot of work that goes into what I do."

"Work that you enjoy?"

This caught her off-guard a little. She stopped briefly, then hurried up to walk beside him. "That's not the point."

"Isn't it? Honestly, I cannot comprehend why would you saddle yourself with a career that you don't find entertaining."

"Life isn't just about entertaining yourself. It's about...doing something you can take pride in."

"And what's to stop you from doing both? Personally, I find my career as a villain quite entertaining as well as rewarding." He rounded a corner and started down an alleyway.

Roxanne followed by his side. "You get your entertainment at the expense of others."

"Is that really such a bad thing?"

"Of course it is! Compassion for your fellow man is part of what makes us human."

Mentedor chuckled.

"What's so funny?" asked Roxanne.

"You know, for someone as seemingly intelligent as you are, you really are quite naive."

"Excuse me?"

"When was the last time you personally saw anyone – besides yourself – do something truly altruistic, hm?"

Roxanne paused for a moment, trying to come up with an example.

"Exactly," said Mentedor. "The truth is, every citizen of Metro County is just as selfish as I am. I'm just a little more open about it."

"I don't buy that."

"Well, if you can come up with a counterexample, by all means, let me know."

She paused again before saying, "Wayne."

"What's this about the sheriff?"

"He's selfless."

Mentedor laughed. "Oh ho ho ho, right! Come on, Roxanne. Surely you of all people should know that righteousness is far closer to villainy than it is to altruism."

"How in the _world_ do you figure that?"

"How many times has your bar been trashed during one of our fights?"

Roxanne paused again.

Mentedor continued. "If Wayne were really as selfless as you claim he is, you'd think he'd at least have the basic courtesy to take our quarrels outside. But he doesn't. Because he doesn't care. He's too preoccupied playing his role as the hero to my villain to worry about the well being of anyone else. Whether his actions help or harm others is inconsequential to him. So long as he gets to banter and receive the public glory of saving the day. It's a game to us. Nothing more."

Roxanne didn't know how to respond to this. Mentedor seemed to be making a remarkable amount of sense, and that bothered her on more than one level. Finally she managed, "Okay, maybe Wayne was a bad example, but other people..."

"Other people?" said Mentedor, stopping and turning toward her. She stopped as well and looked at his incredulous face. As he spoke, he seemed to get more and more irritated. "What, you mean like the patrons of your bar who have never once lifted a finger to help you when I caused trouble? Or that man who let me waltz onto the train with you bound and gagged without the slightest protest? Tell me, Roxanne, who among the populace has show anything that even _remotely_ resembles benevolence? Honestly, how much longer do I have to keep doing this before you open your eyes and see that they're not worthy of your concern?"

"Doing...this?" She arched an eyebrow, looking at him suspiciously. "What is 'this' exactly?"

"Showing you!" He was gesturing broadly now, speaking with passion. "Showing you how the people of this county are nothing more than cattle! Showing you that you don't have to adhere to the social standards that make you so much less than what you could be!"

She crossed her arms. "And what could I be?"

"A villain!" he blurted out, seemingly without thinking. "You and I, working together? We could be unstoppable! Why do you think I've spent so much time trying to show you the idiocy of everyone else? Or how much excitement you could be having if you joined me?"

"Wait. You want to get me to join you?"

"That's the plan, yes!"

Roxanne's eye went wide and she went silent for a moment. "The...plan?"

Suddenly, Mentedor looked very uncomfortable.

"The plan," continued Roxanne, growing angrier by the moment. "As in..._the_ plan? As in the plan you've been talking about for years now?"

Mentedor looked around nervously. He began talking to himself under his breath. "No, no," he muttered, "too soon, too soon."

"_I_ was the plan? You've been putting me through all of this so you could...?"

He glanced back at her, nervously.

"But why me?" she demanded. "There are plenty of people out there more...skilled than I am. More evil than I am. Younger and prettier than I am. Of all the people in Metro County, why'd you have to choose _me?_"

"Because there isn't anyone else!" he said, almost desperately. "You said it yourself back at the restaurant. The people of this county are idiots. But you...you're different! I knew it from the first time I met you. You're smart. You're strong. You're not afraid to say and do what you believe in, even if it goes in the face of any and all social conventions. The fact that you managed to procure your own saloon and continue to maintain it after all I've done to it is evidence enough of your skill and passion! And yet despite all your virtues, you choose to throw them away on a dull, predictable life. That's why I put the plan in motion. To show you just how much better things could be for you!"

"Oh, so this was for _my_ well being?" she practically shouted. "Well, you'll have to excuse me if I don't feel like thanking you for going out of your way to ruin my life!"

There was sadness and frustration in his bright green eyes. "I wasn't trying to ruin your life! I was trying to save it! If I've been tearing you down...it's only because I know you'll rise from the ashes to become something much greater! I knew that once you saw what you were missing out on..."

"Missing out on what? Missing out on having no say in what happens to me? Missing out on being thrown into danger?"

"You were never in any danger," he said, quietly.

"Oh no? What about on the train? What about the bandits?"

He hesitated. "Okay, that wasn't supposed to happen..." he admitted, apologetically. "But...that was just a fluke. I don't normally run into that sort of problem."

"That's not the point! You put me in that situation against my will! And because of that, I almost...God, did you even take a moment to think what would have happened if Wayne hadn't shown up when he did?"

Guilt flooded his features. He glanced around again, then took a bit of his cape in his hands and began kneading it, as if trying to distract himself. He looked very much like a child. "I... Roxanne, believe me, I would never wish any harm upon you. I...I just wanted you to..." He paused.

"To what?"

He was silent for awhile, looking off to the side. "To...like me."

"Like you?" she asked, incredulously. "Like _you?_ Let me make sure I've got this right. You destroyed my bar, you came into my home and kidnapped me, and you treated me like a pawn in your selfish little game in an attempt to get me to _like_ you? God, just how stupid are you?"

"It...it wasn't supposed to be like that. This...the whole plan sounded a lot better in my head. You were supposed to... Please understand, I'd never want to hurt you."

"Well, you did hurt me! You hurt me more than anyone else in my life ever has!"

Mentedor's eyes grew wide and for a moment he didn't speak. His gaze wandered to the hideous bruise on her arm. "Roxanne, I...I'm so sorry... I just...I didn't know what else to do."

"Seriously? Of all the ways you could have approached me, _this_ is the best thing that supposedly brilliant head of yours could come up with?"

"What else could I have done?"

"Oh, I don't know. _Talking_ to me? Treating me like a human being? Doing pretty much anything a _normal_ person would?"

"That doesn't work for me! Being a villain is the only way people...accept me. For years I tried being civil and playing by the rules. And it never gotten me anywhere. How could it when...? Anytime someone sees me, they take one look and just...assume I'm a monster."

"I didn't."

He stared at her, almost intrigued. "You...didn't?"

"No. I didn't think you were a monster until you proved that to me yourself."

He looked back down at his cape where he was still kneading it with his fingers. He bit his lower lip and seemed to be considering something. Then he looked back up at her. "In that case can we...can we just start over? If you got to know me, I think..."

"I don't want to know you!" she blurted out. She was so angry at this whole situation. And she needed to, in no uncertain terms, make him understand. "You are the single most annoying, vile, selfish creature I've ever met in my life! And, you know what? If for whatever reason I ever _do_ decide to become evil and pursue a life of crime, you are the _last_ person I'd ever choose to team up with! Someone would have to be crazy to willingly spend more than two minutes with you! It's a miracle Mount hasn't left you yet! I want you out of my life! Do you understand me?"

Mentedor looked as if he'd just been shot in the chest. For a long moment he just stood there, frozen. Then, eventually, he dropped the edge of his cape, letting it fall back behind him, and straightened his shoulders. The hurt seemed to leave his face completely and he looked at her with his usual confidence. "Very well, Miss Ritchi," he said very formally, although Roxanne could hear the slightest quiver in his voice. "Our agreement stated that I was to take you where you wished to go once the plan reached completion. The plan has failed and thus I will escort you back to your home."

Roxanne was surprised at both his words and sudden change in demeanor, but said nothing.

"I still have some matters I need to attend to here. We will meet at sundown at a designated location. Is the post office acceptable?"

Roxanne just nodded.

"Very well then," said Mentedor, quickly. Then he turned and, with a flick of his cape, walked briskly down the alleyway, around a corner, and out of sight.

Roxanne stood there for awhile, not know how to feel or what to do. She looked back the way she came. She figured it would be a good idea to find the post office, so she'd known where to be when it was time to go home. But something else was pulling her in the direction Mentedor had retreated. Curiosity, perhaps? Condemning her pursuit in her own mind, she hurried off to see if she could spot where Mentedor had run off to. Rounding the corner she saw no sign of him. She continued wandering, looking around, until finally she heard a strange noise. It sounded like...gasping? She followed the noises to a small, abandoned barn and carefully peaked in.

Mentedor was sitting on the floor against a wall, his knees bent in front of him. His head was down and his long, thin fingers were gripping the top of his giant cranium. He rocked back and forth slightly, trembling. He was whispering quietly to himself between sobs and Roxanne could only make out a fraction of the words.

"...stupid..." she heard him hiss to himself. "...freak...what did you...hurt her...hurt Roxanne...God...how could...think she'd...idiot...wasn't supposed to...please, just...worthless, little...why did I...such...monster..."

Roxanne backed away. Since he'd visited her bar a week ago, Mentedor had done a lot of things she's never thought he was capable of. But seeing him here, crying...this was in a category all its own. She'd mean to hurt him, but...not like this. She told herself that he'd earned everything she'd said to him. And, really, he had. But she couldn't help feeling bad for him. And a little freaked out by this whole turn of events. This was all just too much.

She left him crying in the barn and went to look for the post office.

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Things get a little less depressing when Roxanne and Mentedor have dinner together. Also, Roxanne gets a very special present from Mentedor! Could it be his penis? Tune in to find out!


	7. Chapter 7

**FBI Warning:** Haikus don't give me / Quite enough syllables for / An FBI warn...

* * *

Once Roxanne had located the post office, she spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the area. There really wasn't much to write home about – a barbershop, an inn, ironsmith, an odd restaurant here and there. That sort of thing. At one point she noticed two familiar figures walking down the street with purpose. Mount had many large pieces of what appeared to be scrap metal tied to his robotic back and Mentedor's hands were full of the same sorts of materials. They didn't appear to see her, which she was grateful for. She really didn't want to deal with them right now.

Her mind kept wandering back to what had happened earlier that day. She continued reminding herself that he got what he deserved. That she'd suffered far more at his hands than the other way around. And yet, the more she thought back on what happened, the more needlessly cruel her words seemed. She never liked breaking hearts, but in this felt especially unpleasant. Because he was such an outcast. Because he probably would never be accepted by anyone as a friend, save for Mount. Mount. She shouldn't have dragged his name into her ranting.

The knowledge that she really did mean something to Mentedor was disconcerting on multiple levels. She preferred being able to chalk up his decision to target her as some sort of coincidence or case of bad luck. In retrospect, it was a stupid assumption to make. But a comforting one. Now it had become evident that he, in his own strange way, seemed to care for her. She wasn't entirely sure about the extent of his feelings for her and was afraid to wonder. But aside from the creepy factor of it all, it made her feel all that much worse about what she's said to him. He'd put his hopes for the future on her and she'd shattered them. It was the right thing to do, but perhaps not the most tactful way of doing so.

No, no, he deserved it. After all he'd done to her it was the least he deserved. So why did she feel so bad about it?

The day dragged on and the sun lowered to the horizon. Mentedor and Mount were already at the post office when she arrived. And there was...something else with them. It appeared to be a crude, metallic, life-sized sculpture of a horse. The top of its skull looked to be made of half of a large, glowing, blue orb, atop which was a line of dull, metallic spikes served as a sort of mane. Red beads of light shined from where the eyes should have been, making the figure look somewhat demonic. As she got closer she could see that it was moving slightly; stamping its hooves lethargically on the ground, and moving its neck to look this way and that. Could this be one of Mentedor's diabolical machines that's he'd bragged about in the past? And, if so, what was he planning to do with it? She decided not to think about it too much as she approached.

Mount saw her first. "Señorita!" he said, greeting her with a smile.

Mentedor didn't look at her, but she saw his shoulders tighten up.

"Hey, Mount," she said. Then added, a little awkwardly, "Hey, Mentedor."

Mentedor turned to face her, tossing his cape as he did so. "Miss Ritchi," he said with a formal nod. His expression and words seemed practically devoid of emotion.

"So, uh..." she indicated the machine, "...what have we got here?"

"This is equine cyborg. I built it this afternoon. It's belongs to you now and will serve as your transportation home."

Roxanne blinked. She didn't know what sort of answer she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. "You mean...you're not coming with me?"

"I told you I'd see you home safely and I will. I simply assumed after what you'd said earlier that you'd rather not share a horse with me."

"Wow, that's...uh...that's kinda thoughtful," she admitted, looking at the machine uncomfortably.

"So you said this was an equine...what now?"

"Cyborg."

"What's a cyborg?"

Mount spoke up eagerly to answer this. "A cyborg is a being that contains a blend of cybernetic and organic parts."

"Organic...parts?" asked Roxanne. "What part about this is organic?"

"That would be the brain," explained Mentedor.

"The brain? Where did you get a horse's...?" A look of horror came over her face. "Oh, God."

"It would have died otherwise. Now it can live out a full life without fear of being prematurely terminated due to age, disease, or injury."

"Yes, but...this still seems...wrong. Wouldn't it have been more merciful to just let it die? I mean, you've made it into a freak!"

"Hey!" said Mount, sadly.

Roxanne looked at the talking fish-horse-cyborg, who really did take the not-inconsequential award of most-freakish member of the group, and immediately regretted her words. "Oh, no, Mount, I didn't mean...!"

Mentedor spoke up. "If you treat it like a horse, it'll think it's a horse."

For some reason, hearing these words dredged up feelings of guilt in her once more. She cautiously approached the strange creature. It moved its head to look at her. She winced and hesitantly reached her hand out to touch its muzzle.

It leaned into her palm gently. It made a strange "bowg" noise that sounded somewhere between something mechanical and animal. She put her other hand on the lower side of its muzzle, and stroked the front of its face. The creature's eyes were soulless, glowing red. Its body was made of welded bits of cold, hard metal. Blue bolts of energy danced within its skull, illuminating its flat, spiky mane. It was, in nearly every sense of the word, a freak. But the way it moved, the way it looked down at her...she couldn't help feeling a sort of affection for it. She gave Mentedor a small smile. "It's amazing. Thank you."

Mentedor was clearly taken aback by these words. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yes, well...I suppose we should be off then."

"Hold on," said Roxanne, looking back up at her new horse. "First I need to give you a name."

"A name?"

"Sure, every horse needs a name, right? Now, let's see... Last time I saw you, you sure were going fast. I think I'll call you...Scooter."

"Scooter, huh?"

"I think that's a lovely name!" said Mount.

Scooter bowged, nuzzling Roxanne a little.

Roxanne giggled. She looked back over at Mentedor who was staring at her with the faintest hint of a sad smile. Once he saw her looking at him, though, he regained his somewhat stern, emotionless look.

"Hey, I'm hungry," said Roxanne. "Let's go get some dinner."

"I'll pick up some jerky at the general store and we can have it on our way ba..." started Mentedor.

"No, I want a real meal. I saw a place that looked pretty good just a couple blocks down that way."

"Miss Ritchi, we're wasting valuable time..."

"Look, I've got money to spare after the heist, right? Well, I wanna spend it getting something good to eat."

Mentedor sighed. "Fine," he conceded. "I'll give you some of the money from the deal and..."

"Oh, no, I'm not eating alone! That's just depressing as heck."

Mentedor looked surprised. "You...want me to join you?"

"Well, it's either you or Mount, and I'm pretty sure they don't allow horses in the place."

"Most likely," said Mount, annoyed.

"Come on," said Roxanne. "This'll give you a chance to teach me how to ride this guy."

She petted Scooter's neck, which elicited another affectionate bowg from the cyborg.

Scooter's reigns had been built right into its metallic head and Roxanne found the creature just as easy to ride and maneuver as a normal well-trained horse. The trip to the restaurant was quick and uneventful, although more than a few villagers stared at the group as they passed. Mentedor and Roxanne left their rides outside, entered the dimly lit building, and sat down at a table for two.

Roxanne looked at Mentedor and he didn't meet her gaze. From what she could sense, he wasn't angry with her. He was just...cutting himself off. She supposed this could be considered preferable to his normal antics, but somehow it made her feel concerned for him. She decided to leave him be for the moment. When the waiter came, she ordered a rib-eye steak and a bottle of whisky and Mentedor ordered the meatless chili, a potato, and a piece of apple pie.

"You really like pie, don't you?" asked Roxanne once the waiter had left.

He looked at her, arching an eyebrow. "Well, yeah," he said in a tone of voice that implied everyone in the world obviously liked pie.

"Don't get me wrong, I love it too. I just don't usually order it with dinner."

He gave her a weak, sad smirk. "Well, you know how much of a rebel I am."

She returned the smirk. "Speaking of which...you mentioned earlier today that you used to...play by the rules. Somehow I find that hard to picture."

"Oh, it's true. Believe you me, I used to be just as much of a sheep as the rest of them. Even tried to get into law enforcement."

"Law enforcement? You?"

"Well, we all do foolish things in our youth, Miss Ritchi."

"So what happened?"

He sighed. "I was never...formally rejected. But my...my 'peers' made it quite clear I wasn't welcome in their little club. And that they'd continue to make my life miserable if I didn't leave. It hurt at the time. I actually wanted to be a hero." He laughed a little at himself during that last part. "I suppose I should thank them now for the way they treated me. If the hadn't, I might never have understood the true glory of villainy."

"That all seems...very unfortunate. Do you ever think about trying the whole hero thing out again?"

"Not at all. Things are much better this way."

"How do you figure?"

"Heroism is a very...reactionary occupation. When you're a hero, it's the villains who are always calling the shots. What crimes are being committed and where. As a hero, I imagine there's a good amount of time just waiting around for evil to strike. But when you're the one committing the crimes, you can initiate whatever you like whenever you like." Talking about this seemed to be lifting his spirits. "Plus, there's far more creativity involved in villainy. Heroes just show up, capture the bad guys, and cart them away. Villains such as myself, however, can concoct brilliant and elaborate schemes." He was smiling now.

"Wow...you're pretty passionate about being a jerk, aren't you?" Roxanne asked, playfully.

"Oh, very much so! Why, I remember this one time that I..."

She'd heard about many of his evil schemes over the years when he'd visit her saloon and brag until Wayne showed up. But there was something different about the way he was talking now. He wasn't presenting himself with the pompous flair he usually had when talking about his self-proclaimed genius. He wasn't trying to impress anyone or ham it up. He was simply caught up in his own excitement of reliving his various adventures.

He even began to go into a few of the evil schemes he had planned for the future and would occasionally ask her opinion. She was surprised he'd look to her for guidance. She didn't know the least thing about evil or science or criminal tactics. But she answered honestly, as best she could. And he actually seemed to appreciate her input, even if some of her opinions caused him to instinctively roll his eyes. On the whole, however, he was actually much less condescending than she was used to. Though he remained confident in his abilities, the intolerable smugness and attempts at being suave she'd come to expect from him were gone. She wondered if this was how he talked when it was just him and Mount.

When their dinner arrived, the waiter also brought two shotglasses. "I should probably warn you," said Roxanne, pouring herself some whisky, "once I get a couple of these in me I have a tendency to go off on politically-fueled rants."

"Hey," he said, holding up a hand in front of him with a bit of a smile, "as long as you're not ranting about me."

She pushed the bottle of whisky over to him, inviting him to pour himself a drink as well.

The food was delicious and the conversation was actually pleasant. Mentedor again inquired about how Roxanne had come to own her own bar and this time she went into more detail about it. He seemed legitimately interested in her story. Then he began to suggest various innovations she could make to the saloon, most of which were far too dangerous or evil for her to take seriously. She rolled her eyes several times, but also found herself giggling. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that she'd been drinking, the fact that _he'd_ been drinking, or merely a result of his new lack of pretension, but she found herself rather delighted with his sense of humor. And hearing his non-evil laugh was a welcome change of pace.

"You've been surprisingly tolerable tonight," she told him, as they were finishing up their meal.

"Why, Roxanne, I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he responded, putting a hand to his chest. "Shall we be off then?"

"Wait. What about the bill?"

"Honestly, I'll never understand your strange obsession with paying for things."

"Why bother stealing money if you're not gonna spend it?"

"As I believe I've told you before, it's not about the money." He put the proper amount of coins down on the table and stood up. Apparently he'd stood a little too fast as he put a hand up to his head, wobbling a little. Roxanne stood and felt a similar rush.

As they made their way out of the restaurant, Mentedor explained, "Both Mount and, uh...Scooter...have faster top running speeds than your average horses. So according to my calculations we should be able to reach your place in about..."

"Ugh," interrupted Roxanne. "I really don't feel like riding right now."

"You want to walk?"

"Hm. Earlier I saw an inn over in that direction. If you don't mind, I think I'd like get a good night's sleep and then leave in the morning."

"As you wish. I'll take our horses to a quiet place out of town and hunker down for the night. Shall we meet at the post office at sunrise?"

"Sounds good. But walk me to the inn first. Could be some pretty creepy people walking around at this hour."

"Creepier than me?"

She grinned. "Heaven forbid."

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Roxanne and Mentedor end up drunk and horny in a private room at the inn. What will happen? If previous chapters are any indication, probably not sex. But we'll see.


	8. Chapter 8

**FBI Warning:** Okay, so you know how said I wasn't supposed to make any chapter longer than 3,249 words? Well, I may have gotten a little carried away with this one. My publisher is going to murder me. Megamind is copyright DreamWorks. Megamind's ears are copyright fangirls.

* * *

"Look, I'm not saying I _want_ the government to intervene in our economic pursuits," Roxanne told Mentedor as he placed the proper amount of coins on the innkeeper's desk. She walked toward the stairway. "I mean, you know I'm a capitalist. I've worked hard for what I've gotten and I'm darn proud of it!" She started going up the stairs, Mentedor following her. "And, believe me, I _hate_ paying taxes as much as the next person. All I'm saying is that if the less fortunate have to work in inhumane conditions in order to get the money to merely _survive_, we've failed as a society!" She was gesturing broadly with her hands and began to lose her balance, tipping backwards. Mentedor quickly put a hand on her back to steady her and she continued up the stairs without pausing or even seeming to notice she'd lost her balance in the first place. "I swear, these robber barons are doing more damage to innocent people through perfectly legal means than you've done through all of your idiotic heists combined! I mean, is it too much to ask for a few regulations? Is it?" She'd reached the top of the stairs at this point and she turned to face Mentedor as she continued to walk.

"I...honestly hadn't put any thought into it before," confessed Mentedor.

"And, see, that's the problem!" she said as she continued forward. "We're all too busy dealing with our own garbage to worry about stuff like this. And that's how they're able to get away with it." She found her designated room and walked into it. Mentedor followed her in and moved toward the center of the room, seemingly trying to put some space between himself and the venting woman. "It's just...I mean, this isn't even something the government should _have_ to intervene in. People should just be...good enough to know better! And yet you hear these stories about people who just...guh!" She kicked the door shut. At this point she didn't even seem aware of Mentedor's presence, too caught up in her own rant. "It's infuriating! And when someone asks my stance on the government's role in our daily lives...okay, nobody actually asks me that, but when I bring it up...I _want_ to say there's no place for it. But that's acting under the basic assumption that people aren't idiots. And yet, time and time again, you see..."

She glanced toward Mentedor and noticed he wasn't looking at her. Instead he was gazing into a mirror that hung on the wall above a small table. An oil lamp that sat atop the table cast flickering light and shadows across his face. He looked sad. Roxanne forgot what she had been talking about and moved in his general direction until she was standing a little ways behind him. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror, the soft, dim light showing hints of concern on her face.

"Hey," she said, a little awkwardly. "What's up?"

"I hate mirrors," Mentedor replied, not turning to face her.

"Well, that's silly. Mirrors are...great! How...uh...how could you shave without a mirror?"

"My facial hair grows very slowly. I only have to shave about once a month."

"Huh."

Mentedor paused. "What am I?"

That caught Roxanne a little off guard. "You mean...you don't know?"

He sighed. "I can remember back to my infancy. Me and Mount at the orphanage. But if I ever had any memory of my parents or...any home I might have come from...it's gone."

"Well, that...sucks, I guess. But...don't take this the wrong way, but does it really matter?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...you are who you are, right? Who cares where you came from?"

"Everyone but you, apparently."

"Sorry, I just...I guess it's always just seemed pretty...trivial to me. It's not where you come from. It's where you're going."

"Where I'm...?" He paused again. "You know, I'd always hoped I could use this," he indicated his face, "to my advantage. And I suppose I have. The fear I instill in the common folk is a most useful asset. It's just...not the exactly the image I'd once hoped to project."

"Which was...?"  
"I thought I might cultivate a certain...foreign charm as a part of my persona. I would not be perceived as a grotesque, blue outcast but a alluringly, exotic foreigner."

"Okay, that explains the Spanish then. But would it have been too much for you to invest in a phrasebook instead of just making stuff up?"

"Honestly, you're the first person who's ever called me out on it. I used to think I was rather by-en at it myself."

"Wow."

"I'd just like to know. If there are any others out there like me. Or if my parents abandoned me as soon as they saw I was a freak. My remarkable brain can accomplish feats most people could never dream of. And yet I can't even figure out what I am." He looked a little frustrated. "I just...wish someone could tell me."

Roxanne hesitated. Then she slowly began to walk toward him. He saw her reflection approaching his and he turned to face her. She stopped in front of him and took a moment to really observe what he looked like. And she realized it had been years since she'd been aware of just how odd his appearance was. The blue skin. The oversized head. Was this what everyone else saw when they looked at him? She found herself strangely intrigued.

She reached her right hand out toward his forehead and he automatically pulled back a little. She stopped for a moment, then touched her fingertips to his skin. As she slowly slid her hand to the upper-right-hand side of his cranium, he moved his head back forward slightly to fill her palm, looking at her curiously. His skin was cool and she could feel his skull right beneath the surface. Funny, somehow she'd thought his head would be soft, it was every bit as solid as a normal person's. A little oddly shaped, though; symmetrical but not a perfect, smooth curve. She put her other hand up to the opposite side of his head and explored the surface. He looked at her with some wonder, but remained silent and didn't make a move to stop her.

She moved her hands back down his forehead and ran her thumbs across the smooth, sparse, black hair of his eyebrows.

He had dark lashes surrounding his amazingly vivid emerald-green eyes. They seemed to carry so much soul and emotion in them, although she couldn't exactly define what they were supposed to be conveying at the moment. Sadness was probably the closest thing she could think of, but it wasn't that. Not exactly.

She traced the fingers of one hand down his almost elf-like nose as the other hand moved down his temple. She noticed a pinkness in his cheeks. Had that always been there or was he blushing? She wasn't sure.

She rested a hand on one of his cheeks while the other moved down his chin and touched his thin, black goatee. It was smooth and sparse, very much like his eyebrows. She stroked her thumb down it, feeling how soft it was. Then back up, bristling the hairs. Then back down, smoothing it once more.

She moved the hand up to his mouth and ran her thumb over his lips. She repeated this motion, stroking his upper lip then his lower lip as she looked into his eyes. He just stared at her, not moving, not making a sound.

She moved her hand from his lips up to his cheek and moved her other hand up toward his ear. He had interesting ears. They were shaped differently than a normal person's and their color dissolved from his regular blue skin tone to pink around the edges. She stroked her thumb across the cool shell and he inhaled deeply. She hadn't been expecting that. This was the most acknowledgement he'd given her since she'd started touching him. Her thumb continued to explore the soft curvature of his outer ear. He still wasn't moving or making any verbal noises, but his breathing had deepened and his eyes stared into hers with a look she finally recognized. Roxanne smirked a little. She liked the feeling of control this gave her. She kept working his ear with a light touch, feeling its coolness, its thinness, its peaks and valleys.

"Does that feel good?" she whispered.

He paused a moment before whispering back a very clear, "Yes." The way he was looking at her made her think he might pounce on her at any moment. But he didn't move. He just stood there, breathing slowly, heavily, staring into her eyes.

When she'd first reached out to touch his forehead, there had been nothing sexual about it. She had just been curious. But now Roxanne was enjoying the power of turning him on with such simple movements of her fingers. And seeing the want in his eyes was making her feel oddly aroused herself. She looked back down to his mouth.

She leaned in and gave him a long, gentle kiss on his cool lips. He barely responded, moving his lips just slightly against hers, the rest of him staying frozen in place. She broke the kiss and then went in for another. On some level she knew that this was a bad idea and that she'd probably come to regret it. But she didn't care for the moment.

She continued rubbing his ear, as her kisses became more passionate. Meanwhile, he continued to barely respond, although his breaths were coming deeper and faster. This was too much fun. She continued playing with his ear, and eventually he sounded as if he were nearly hyperventilating. She heard him whimper, quietly. Then he grabbed her suddenly, one arm around her back, the other gripping her hair, kissing her franticly and hard. She responded in kind. They brought their lips together quickly, again and again, moving and sucking like they couldn't get enough of each other.

This went on for some time before it became clear that both were running out of breath and they slowed their pace stopped. Roxanne draped her forearms over his shoulders and they panted into each other's faces, unable to speak for the moment.

Finally, Mentedor managed to whisper through breaths, "What. The heck. Was that?"

She smiled. "We just made out."

"Yes. Yes, I got that. But why?"

This was a good question, and it made her feel a little self-conscious. "I was...trying to figure out what you were." Admittedly that was how the touching had started, so she figured that was an accurate enough answer.

"By kissing me?"

"...Yes."

"And...?"

"You're..." She thought for a moment. "...blue."

Mentedor blinked. Then he started to chuckle. "Well, that explains it then," he laughed, quietly.

Roxanne giggled. "I know, right?"

Mentedor started snickering harder. "Truly your powers of observation are unrivaled."

Roxanne could feel Mentedor's shoulders bouncing as he laughed and she found she couldn't contain her giggles either. "Hey, shut up," she laughed.

He leaned his forehead up against hers and they stood there together, trembling with restrained laughter. Eventually Roxanne pulled her head away a little and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she put her arm back over his shoulder and looked at him. He was smiling at her, a weak but sincere and beautiful smile.

"I'd never looked at you before," she said.

The smile left his face and he arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Beg pardon?"

"I just...I like your face. It's interesting. It makes me curious to see the rest of you."

It seemed to take him a moment for these words to register. Then his eyes widened. "But...you hate me."

"Sometimes. I do. Sometimes. Not at the moment. Mostly I just hate the things you do. And the way you act."

"What's left after that?"

She tilted her head. "I don't know. Something inside, I guess." She reached a finger up to his face and stroked it down his cheek. "Mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"I...suppose not."

"Are you a virgin?"

He looked startled. Then he laughed, nervously, avoiding her gaze. "Ha! Don't be ridiculous."

She smirked at him, one of her eyebrows arched skeptically, and when he looked back at her his face fell.

"Was it the kissing?" he asked, sadly.

"No, you're a very good kisser."

He seemed to brighten a bit at this.

She moved in a little closer. "Do you ever think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"What it would be like? Making love to someone?"

He took in a deep breath. After a moment he said, "I try to stay focused on evil."

"But you have thought about it."

"...Yes."

She traced her finger down his jaw line, her eyes following it toward his chin. She could guess the answer to her next question and there was a hint of teasing in her voice as she asked it. "Have you thought about it with anyone in particular?" She looked at his neck and noticed he was swallowing. When she gazed back up at his eyes, he looked ashamed.

"I'm so sorry. I swear that's not why I kidnapped..."

"It's okay." Earlier that day, his confirmation would have made her extremely uncomfortable. But right now it felt good to be wanted. And to know she actually held that sort of power. "What's it like? In your mind?"

He said nothing, just stared at her, looking very uneasy.

She found herself taking similar pleasure in watching his discomfort as she had in watching his desire. There was something very satisfying about having the upper hand after everything he'd put her through. She decided she wanted to play it up.

"I can picture it," she said, gazing at him with lustful eyes, her voice sultry. "You and me. Lying together. None of these pesky clothes between us."

His mouth was open and he stared at her in awe.

"So many places I could touch you," she continued. "Hm. I'll bet I could make you moan." She leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his jaw line, the moved her mouth near his ear. "I could make you feel so, so good if I wanted to." She moved her head back and looked at him, frozen where he stood, his green eyes shining with shock and desire.

She decided to continue. "Can you imagine me lying down over there?" She motioned with her head toward the bed. "All spread out? Giving you access to every last inch of me? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He managed to nod.

She giggled. "Yeah, I'll bet you would." She was smirking now. "Where would you like to touch me? Hm?"

He swallowed, but didn't say anything.

"No answer, huh? Would you rather lick me, then?" She caressed his cheek with her hand. "Tell me where you'd like to put that obnoxiously verbose little tongue of yours."

He continued to look at her, silently, breathing deeply now.

Oh, she was relishing this. She really wasn't sure exactly what her ultimate goal in all this was, but watching him react to her this way made her feel very strong. Admittedly, she was a more than a little surprised he wasn't saying or doing anything, but in a way that made this whole thing all that much more delicious. If she could render Mentedor or all people speechless, she was probably capable of just about anything. Was this what it felt like to be evil?

She leaned in again and grazed her lips against his. "I know what you want, don't I?" she whispered to him, then gave him a soft kiss. She heard him make a faint noise. "You want me under you." She kissed him again. He touched her face very gently, stroking it with his long, slender fingers. It felt nice. "Your skin against mine." She gave him a longer kiss this time. He stroked her hair and she found that she had become legitimately turned on. This time when she spoke, it wasn't merely to play with him. "Making love until neither of us can breath." She looked into his beautiful green eyes and felt his shoulders rise and fall under her arms. She surprised herself with what she said next. "I want that too."

He blinked at her.

She was through playing games. Any rational thought that told her this might be a mistake was drowned out by her growing lust. He looked so good right now and she gazed hungrily at him as if he were her prey. She removed her arms from him and reached behind herself. Her hand found the end of the ribbon that kept her dress secure. She pulled on it, unknotting the bow and began shrugging out of the top of her outfit.

Suddenly his hands were gripping her sleeves, pulling the dress back up, not allowing her to reveal herself.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sincerely confused.

"I can't."

"What do you mean? You don't want me or...?"

"No, I do. You...don't even know how much. It's just..."

"What?"

"You're drunk."

She smirked. "Not _that_ drunk."

"Drunk enough, apparently."

"You're drunk too," she noted, teasingly.

"Yes, but..."

"Hey," she whispered. She moved in and gave him another soft kiss. "It's okay."

"Roxanne..." He shook his head.

"I want this."

"You want this now. But tomorrow..."

"I know what I'm doing."

"I'm not sure you do. You're acting...strange."

"Please."

"Roxanne, you don't even like me."

"Please." She kissed him. "I need this. It's been so long for me. I need to feel you." She kissed him again. "Filling me. Stretching me. Deep inside."

"Oh, God..." he whimpered, his hands tightening on her arms, his expression looking absolutely pained.

"Please."

This time when she came in for a kiss, he pushed her away to arm's length. He removed his hands from her and backed away. "I'm sorry," he said, not looking at her. "I want this too, but...if tomorrow you wake up and realize you'd made a mistake, I... I've done so much to you already, Roxanne. You're here because I kidnapped you and now this is... I can't hurt you again. Not like that."

There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice was no longer breathy or sultry. It was just annoyed. "Are you kidding me?"

He looked up at her.

"Seriously?" she went on, her anger rising. "Now? After all this, after all you've put me through, _now_ is the time you decide to be a gentleman? Now that I actually _want_ something from you? Now?"

"Um." Mentedor looked around nervously.

"Good God, what is _wrong_ with you?"

He seemed intimidated. "Now, calm down..."

"I am calm!" she blurted out. "_You_ calm down, you hypocritical little prude!"

"Roxanne, believe me I'm only trying to..."

"Oh, I know what you're _trying_ to do! For years now you've been doing what _you_ think is best for me. Pretending to know me; to know what I want. Well, believe it or not, I can make my own choices!" She began approaching him slowly, threateningly.

Mentedor backed up, holding his hands out in front of him. "Now, just listen to me, Roxanne..."

"You want it..."

"Yes, but..."

"I want it..."

"Yes, but..."

"So..."

She pounced toward him and he barely had time to dodge out of the way. Roxanne smashed front-first onto the floor with what sounded like a painful crash. Mentedor hurried back toward the center of the room and turned to see the seething woman turning toward him and rising. She blew a breath of hot air out of her nose and dragged one of her shoes on the floorboards. Then she charged.

"Gyah! Taurus! Taurus!" cried a panicked Mentedor. He quickly held out his cape, hoping that the blue lining would distract the oncoming figure. She was almost touching him when he whipped the cape up and moved out of the way, sending her running straight into a chair that had been next to the wall. The piece of furniture broke into several pieces as the woman tumbled into it.

Mentedor couldn't help but giggle a little at this, but Roxanne was quickly on her feet again and bolting toward him. Once again alarmed, he parried her again and again and eventually managed to make his way out the doorway and into the hall. He grabbed the doorknob and yanked on it, but before the door could shut, Roxanne had grabbed the doorknob on the other side and started pulling with all her might.

"Get back in here!" she commanded.

"Roxanne, this is for your own good!" cried Mentedor, leaning back, trying to pull the door shut. "I think it would be highly beneficial if you got some rest now."

"Don't you _ever_ tell me what to do!" yelled Roxanne, struggling with equal effort on her half of the door. "Now get your scrawny, blue butt in here and _screw me!_"

It was at that point when a short, overweight, orange-haired man carrying a bottle of liquor passed by in the hall. "Man," he said to Mentedor, without breaking stride, "I wish I had your problem." He found his own room and shut the door behind him.

Roxanne and Mentedor continued grappling with the door until finally Roxanne yanked it with a sudden burst of strength. The door went flying open, launching Roxanne backwards and sending Mentedor collapsing face-first onto the floor, his cape falling over his head.

There was silence for a moment. Then Mentedor lifted up the cape to see Roxanne's motionless body lying in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Oh, God, he had killed her.

He stumbled over to her as quickly as he could and knelt by her side. He hesitated for just a moment before pressing two fingers against her neck. She still had a pulse. And breath. He let out a sigh of relief.

Mentedor sat for a little while, trying to take in everything that had just happened. That had certainly been...an unexpected turn of events. He found he was still a little too disoriented to be properly confused. So instead he just looked down at the unconscious figure with a bit of sadness.

Then he stood up, walked over to the bed, and turned down an edge of the blankets. He returned to Roxanne and gathered her in his arms. With some effort he managed to carry her over and lay her down on the mattress. He lifted her head and placed a pillow under it. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, gazing down at her.

God, she was beautiful. The short, mahogany-colored hair parted on the side that fell in diagonal wisps over her small forehead. Her thin eyelashes that now seemed as guardians to her closed, light blue eyes. That thin, tiny nose. The barely perceptible freckles scattered on her faintly blushed cheeks. The slightly larger freckle to the lower right of her small, full lips. Her fair, slender neck, leading down to her collarbone. Her breasts. Those beautiful, perfectly shaped breasts that she had longed to show him earlier. He found himself staring at her cleavage, the valley of her chest and her now-loose dress making him yearn for her much more. He wanted so badly to stroke her soft, creamy skin, her gorgeous body more tempting than any slice of pie he could imagine. And, yes, that included strawberry-rhubarb.

He thought for a moment, then put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her on her side. He didn't want her to suffocate if she happened to vomit in the middle of the night. He stood and pulled the covers up to her shoulder. Then he leaned down to the spot on her forehead just below the parting of her hair and kissed her there, very gently.

He walked to the door, pausing to cast one last glance at her for the night. In his career as a villain, he'd pulled off so many complex heists, invented so many creations that even the most brilliant minds might consider impossible, battled with so many law-enforcement officials and bounty hunters, and escaped from so many prisons. By the very nature of his lifestyle he found himself being faced with near-impossible challenges on a regular basis. Sometimes he would succeed and sometimes he would fail. But of all the various trials he had faced over the years, there was one thing he was sure of.

Tonight's had definitely been the hardest.

* * *

**Preview:** In the next exciting chapter of The Successful Failures of El...okay, sorry, but I just have to say...seriously? Seriously? What does it frickin' take? Are these two _ever_ gonna do it? Oh, forget it. I give up. But, anyways...like I was saying. So, yeah. Roxanne and Mentedor head back toward Roxanne's home, when they are encountered with an unexpected problem that will test the very foundation of who they are. How will they handle it? Will embrace villainy, heroism, or will they simple get shot in the head and die? Find out next time.


	9. Chapter 9

**FBI Warning:** The unauthorized reproduction or distrubution of federal law provides severe civil and criminal penalities for the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of federal law. Stay in shool.

* * *

Even with her eyes closed, the room was way too bright. She was lying in a bed on her side and her head. Hurt. What had happened? She'd taken Mentedor out to dinner and...

Her eyes shot open as she remembered the feel of their lips pressed together, only to have rays of sunlight mercilessly attacked her pupils. She quickly squeezed her eyelids shut and pulled the covers over her throbbing head.

She lay there gradually remembering, and the more she recalled the more she found herself scrunching her body into a ball under the blankets. The kissing she might have been able to write off as an understandable mistake caused by stress and alcohol. But she had, quite literally, thrown herself at him. And he – Mentedor – had rejected her.

So, this was what rock bottom felt like. Roxanne tried to figure out what she should do next and quickly determined that the most appropriate course of action would be to stay hidden away in this bed for the rest of her life. Hopefully she would starve to death before the innkeeper came in and kicked her out. She wondered if they'd bury her here in Littlesburg or if they'd find a way to get her back home. Maybe she could be buried under her saloon. Yes, she'd like that.

She began wondering what the ceremony would be like. Who would attend. What they'd say about her. She couldn't imagine all that many people showing up. Maybe a few customers from her bar talking about how good she was at mixing drinks and how much she hated it when her saloon was destroyed. Perhaps someone would mention her various charitable donations. She suspected nobody would say anything about her personality, because...well...nobody really knew her.

Sure, she had made plenty of casual acquaintances and a good number of business contacts. It wasn't as if she were unlikable. She knew how to carry on a conversation and was always willing to listen to her customers' problems when she was at work. And certainly more than a few people had shown interest in being friends or more than friends with her.

Regardless, she never found herself motivated to let anyone into her personal life. At the end of each day, she went home alone. She had no gal pals to bond with. No relationships with men outside of the rare one-night stand. And that seclusion was a conscious decision on her part. She wasn't opposed to the idea of friendship. She had just simply not met anyone who she'd wish to try and form any sort of meaningful bond with.

Roxanne didn't consider herself a misanthrope. She liked to believe in the general goodness of humanity. She wanted other people to be happy, to be safe and cared for. But she had also meant what she said when she told Mentedor that most of the people in Metro County were idiots. Not bad people. Just idiots. They were cowards – never once stepping up to help her unless they got something in return. They were sheep – believing everything they heard instead of looking with their own eyes. They were superficial – nobody ever seeming to take an actual interest in her feelings unless they were trying to get something from her. And they were boring – every life story and worldview she heard at the bar a slight variation of something she'd heard before.

If she were ever to bother with friendship, it'd need to be with someone...different. Someone who was willing to fight for what they believed in, or someone actually who bothered to think for themselves, or someone who sincerely cared about her well-being, or someone who was even the slightest bit interesting.

To her knowledge, there was only one person in Metro County who had those qualities. And she hated him. Or at least that's what she intended to continue claiming.

She thought back to last night. She remembered how angry she'd been that he hadn't taken her. And how convinced he was that if they did go through with it, she'd regret it later. She really hated it when he was right.

She groaned, pulled the covers off her, and sat up. She sat on the side of the bed for a little while, trying to let the pain in her head distract her from the unfortunate reality that she actually was going to continue on with her life. Once she stood up, she reached behind herself and tied her bow, securing her dress back in place. Then she made her way to the door.

She was only mildly surprised to see Mentedor sleeping up against the wall right outside her room. Like a guard, she thought. He seemed to become aware of her presence and opened his eyes, looking up at her. God, he looked hungover. And she couldn't imagine she looked much better.

He slowly got to his feet and, without saying a word, the two of them made their way downstairs and back out onto the dusty streets of the town. They were silent as they found a place to eat and remained so until they place their orders. Ginger ale and pie for Mentedor. A Bloody Mary and a plate of bacon for Roxanne. And then silence again.

Roxanne looked over to see Mentedor rubbing his head, not looking at her. She figured she really should say something to him. She didn't want to, but the silence that hung between them was becoming a painful reminder that one of them would have to speak eventually. And there was something in particular that needed to be said.

"About last night..." she said, quietly, and he looked up at her. She paused. "Thanks."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"We're, uh..." continued Roxanne. "We're both kinda idiots aren't we?"

"It would appear so," agreed Mentedor.

They each smiled a little and didn't say anything for the remainder of their time at the restaurant.

When they returned to their horses, Mount smiled at them. "Señor! Señorita! You're both looking well this morning!" This obviously wasn't true, but neither of them called him out on it. Roxanne mounted Scooter and Mentedor scooted into place on Mount and the four figures started making their way out of town. Mount never questioned where they had been or what they had been doing, instead opting to play some soothing melodies as they road off. He really was a fantastic fish.

By the time they'd made it past the edge of town and out into the desert, Roxanne was feeling much better. She considered herself particularly talented at recovering from hangovers. And to look at Mentedor, apparently he possessed the same talent. Maybe something to do with his giant head? Soon both parties looked fully recovered.

They were riding across the top of a hill when Roxanne pulled on Scooter's reigns, bringing it to a stop. Mentedor and Mount noticed this as well and turned around to join her.

"What are you...?" asked Mentedor.

"Something's going on down there," said Roxanne.

Mentedor opened a hatch in Mount's robotic body and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He hadn't looked through them for more than a few seconds before Roxanne grabbed them away and held them to her own eyes.

"Hey!" he objected. "Give those back! What kind of a woman goes around snatching up other people's stolen property?"

Roxanne was ignoring him, focusing instead on what she saw through the lenses. Five men were sitting casually around the edge of a small pit of quicksand. There were also five horses, apparently belonging to the men. And in the middle of the quicksand was an old Native American man. The quicksand was up to his waist and none of the other men seemed to be making an effort to help him.

"That old man is in trouble!" said Roxanne in an alarmed hush.

"Yes, it would appear so," said Mentedor, his tone acknowledging that this was an unfortunate situation, but not reflecting any of the panic in Roxanne's voice. "Well, let's be grateful we're not him." He grabbed the binoculars back and motioned for them to move on. "Shall we?"

"Hold your fish! We can't just leave him here!"

"Roxanne, I don't think he just tripped and fell into that quicksand. In all likelihood those other men, for whatever barbaric reason, wish to see him dead."

"You're right," she said, looking down at the scene and narrowing her eyes. "If we don't do something he's done for. Okay, here's the plan!"

"The plan?"

"I'm gonna go down there and draw the other guys away. Then while they're chasing me, you find some way to get that old man to safety! You ready?"

"Not even remotely."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, that's easily the dumbest plan I've ever heard in my life."

"And that's really saying something!" noted Mount.

Mentedor glared at his friend and the fish looked a little regretful.

"What's wrong with my plan?" asked Roxanne.

"Besides the fact that it will, in all likeliness, result in the termination of your own life?" asked Mentedor.

"I'll be alright! You told me yesterday that Scooter runs faster than your average horse, right? Plus he doesn't seem to fatigue. There's no way they'll catch me!"

"Oh, and that'll be _really_ comforting when they pull out their guns and _shoot you in the head!_"

"Okay, then what would you suggest?"

"I'd suggest we leave."

"And just let him die?"

"Well, you have to admit, the guy _does_ look pretty old. I suspect he only has a few years left anyway."

"I can't believe you! Don't you care at all?"

"Of course I care! I'm not so uncivilized that I'd ever _wish_ such a fate upon that man. But from a practical standpoint, we have no say in this matter! If either of us goes down there to intervene, we won't be coming back up!"

"Oh, come on! You're always putting yourself in life-threatening situations! How is this any different?"

"The difference, Miss Ritchi, is that I only place myself in scenarios where the probability of my survival meets my own standards of acceptability."

"What about back on the train? I heard you admit that those guys were about to kill you before Wayne showed up."

"That was...different."

"Different how?"

"I put you in the situation. It was...it was my obligation to get you out of it. Neither one of us, however, have any obligation to this man."

"That's not the point."

"That's exactly the point! You're not law enforcement. You don't have a role you need to play in this scene. Honestly, if you're really that eager to die in a blaze of heroic glory, you could at least do it in a situation with a bit more of an audience. If you gave me some advanced notice, I could even throw together some fitting theme music and pyrotechnics to accentuate your sacrifice."

"It's not about glory or playing roles! It's about doing what's right!"

"You are being completely irrational! Look, you hit your head pretty hard last night. I think that perhaps..."

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

"I decline."

She scoffed. "Some friend you are!"

"I...wait. We're friends?"  
"Well, obviously not. Look, you do what you want. I'm gonna go down there."

"And do what?"

"Well, if you're not going to help me, I guess I'm just gonna have to try and appeal to their good nature."

"Good nature? Roxanne, they're murdering an old man down there! You can't honestly tell me that you think reasoning with them is going to end in success."

"Maybe not. But I'd rather die doing what I believe in than live life as a coward. I'd have thought _you_ of all people could understand that." With that, Roxanne snapped the reigns and her and Scooter took off down the hill.

"Roxanne!" cried Mentedor. He let out a groan of frustration. "You see, Mount? _This_ is why women shouldn't be allowed to ride horses!"

"You gave her that horse," replied Mount. "And since when are you a chauvinist?"

"I'll be chauvinistic when it darn well suits me!"

Mentedor looked back to Roxanne, who was riding down the side of the hill toward her own death. He sighed. What was wrong with her? People didn't act this way. They just didn't. Everyone looked out for themselves. The idea that altruism was anything more than a hypothetical idea seemed ludicrous. And yet, here she was. Throwing her life away for the mere chance of saving someone she'd never met before. Going against all social conventions in a foolhardy attempt to adhere to her own sense of morality. She truly was an idiot. And Mentedor had never felt more in love.

"God, she's perfect, isn't she?" he noted with some sad reverence.

"Uh...señor?" said Mount.

It was then Mentedor noticed that one of the bandits had a gun pointed to her head and she was getting down from Scooter. "Oh, geez, they're gonna kill her!" Mentedor began to panic.

"What are we going to do?" asked Mount, also clearly concerned.

"Hold on, let me think!" Mentedor's eyes lit up. "Mount, I just came up with a brilliant plan!"

Meanwhile, Roxanne was once again loathing the fact that Mentedor actually was, on occasion, correct. Maybe she should have thought this whole thing through a bit more. She stood on the ground next to Scooter and looked nervously at the man who was approaching her, gun pointed straight at her head. She attempted a smile. "Hey, come on," she appealed in a kind tone, trying her best to mask the trembling in her voice. "We're all reasonable people here. I'm sure if we all just sat down and talked about our feelings, we could find a nice compromise that would benefit everyone." Yeah, she was gonna die.

The sound of flamenco guitars filled the air. Roxanne instinctually assumed her bar was about to get trashed before realizing they were nowhere near her bar. She turned toward the noise and a paper airplane hit her in the eye. "Ow!" she said, rubbing her eye as the folded paper fell to the ground. Then she looked up to see Mentedor a several yards away, standing confidently on Mount's back, hands on his hips, a smile on his face, cape billowing in a seemingly non-existent wind.

Mount's robotic body continued to project his master's theme song as Mentedor spoke. "Buenos Dayos, my intellectually-inferior ban-dittos! Oh, I certainly do not envy the perilous situation you find yourselves in now. For soon you shall see that your quicksand of evil will be swallowed whole by my much quicker sand of greater evil! Seh-nor-it-a! The poster!"

Roxanne just looked at him. He seemed to want her to do something, but she wasn't sure what. He stayed frozen in place for a moment, then his eyes gaze went down to the paper airplane on the ground, and back up to her, smiling with restrained frustration. She bent over and picked up the paper airplane, unfolding it. It was a wanted poster of Mentedor.

"Gentlemen, feast your eyes upon the fearsome image of the harbinger of your doom!" continued Mentedor.

Roxanne held up the poster so that the men could see it, putting one hand below and looking sideways at it with an awkward smile.

"Might I call your attention to the reward?" said Mentedor. "Clearly a man with such an incredible bounty on his giant head is not someone to be trifled with! And, if you are not properly intimidated, allow me to call attention to the print that says 'WANTED ALIVE'. That's very important, you know."

The men exchanged glances for a moment. "Let's get 'im!" yelled one of them and they quickly mounted their horses.

Mentedor took this moment to throw a length of rope at Roxanne and he and Mount took off quickly across the desert, the five men chasing in hot pursuit.

"See?" said Mentedor, legitimately pleased with how well this was going. "I told you this was a brilliant plan! Now Roxanne can take care of helping the old man while we distract them."

"Isn't this just basically Señorita Ritchi's idea?" asked Mount.

"Oh, do be quiet, Mount! Now, you see that rock formation over there? That's our destination."

"On our way, señor!"

Back at the quicksand, Roxanne threw one end of the rope around Scooter's neck.

The old Native American man, who had now sunk down to his chest, called out to her. "Have you heard the good news?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Huh?" said Roxanne, bringing the rope around and beginning to tie a knot.

"Jesus Christ died for our sins!" continued the man, with a huge smile.

"Okay, first of all, I'm not sure that's exactly news..." Roxanne secured the knot and grabbed the other end of the rope.

"Have you accepted Zeus as your personal lord and savior?"

Roxanne walked toward the edge of the quicksand. "Look, Christianity isn't exactly my..." She stopped, registering his words. "Wait, what?"

"You must open your mind, my child," explained the old man. "For once you discover Om, you shall truly find inner peace and become at one with the universe. Quetzacoatl deems it so!"

"Yeah, that's great. But right now would you mind grabbing onto this rope?" She tossed one end and it landed in the sand near him. He grabbed it and Roxanne motioned for Scooter to walk away from the quicksand. It did so and began slowly dragging the old man toward safety.

"You know, my friend," continued the old man, "there's a yin to every yang. Have you found your yin?"

"I'm fine with just the yang, thanks," said Roxanne as the man was pulled up on solid ground.

"I have been saved!" he cried. "Praise Allah! L'chayyim!"

Roxanne rolled her eyes. "Look, do you live somewhere around here? I'd like to get you to safety before those hooligans get back here."

"Oh, that would be delightful! By the way, I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be traveling with a Hindu god. Could I possibly get an autograph?"

"No."

Meanwhile, Mentedor had managed to reach the rock formation with ample time to carry out the next step of his plan. Which was to hide. Rather than riding across the ground into the flat opening at center of the formation, Mentedor had taken a detour up a stone slope. Now he sat looking over a ridge and down into the large gap, quietly hoping that the bandits chasing him would make their way to the area below them. He was in luck. All five of the hooligans rode into the opening and stopped for a moment to wonder where their fugitive had gone. Mentedor smiled evilly and pulled out his gun.

Mount had parked himself back a little ways and winced as his rider shot several blasts downwards, laughing maniacally as the men's cries echoed from down below. When Mentedor finally relented there was a stillness, and he stood up, holding his gun proudly and surveying his handiwork. Beneath him the dust cleared to reveal that all five of the bandits were unharmed. The passageway that they had taken to get where they were, however, was now blocked by several large boulders.

"Don't worry," said Mentedor. "With a little teamwork, I'm sure you'll find a way out of here in a few hours or so. Luckily by then, my comrades and I will have already rode off dramatically into the sunset!"

"It's the middle of the morning, señor," interjected Mount.

Mentedor turned back toward his companion, looking annoyed. "Do you mind, Mount? I'm trying to gloat here!" He returned his focus toward the men looking up at him. "Now where was I? Oh, yes! You all! Grovel in the wake of your defeat and know that evil shall always triumph over evil! Bow before the glory that is El Ment..."

Mentedor let out a shriek and stumbled back as several bullets were fired his way. "Mount, they're shooting at me! Can they do that?"

"It would appear so, señor."

"Oh, forget this! Come on. We're va-moose-ing!"

And with that, they were off.

* * *

**Preview:** In the next and final chapter of The Successful Failures of El Mentedor: Roxanne is faced with an important decision, and we all say goodbye. Yes, unfortunately the suits over at FOX don't know a good thing when they see one and have decided to cancel my fanfiction after only ten chapters. The good news is that I _have_ been approved to write a one-shot follow-up which will hopefully be posted sometime later this month. Anyways, how will this series end? Will our two protagonists finally...oh, you know the drill. Tune in next time!


	10. Chapter 10

**FBI Warning:** Well, it's been fun, guys. And apparently I've run out of things to warn you about. Don't let this happen to you! Keep an emergency list of warnings around you at all time. You have been cautioned.

* * *

Normally Roxanne hadn't been allowed to go for more than one or two weeks without Mentedor showing up and causing havoc at her bar. Now it had been over a month and she hadn't seen heads nor tails of him. Which surprised her. The way they left things had no sense of finality to it. He's dropped her off at her house and left rather abruptly thereafter. She figured he'd return to her workplace soon enough to play his self-imposed role of making her life difficult. But he hadn't. And as a result, things were going more smoothly than they had in years. The saloon had been rebuilt. She'd paid off all of her debts and even had enough money left over to buy some new chairs for her bedroom at home. Customers had returned in full force. It was exactly what she had wanted.

The boredom threatened to overwhelm her. She found herself constantly distracted, marveling at just how intolerably monotonous her life had become. She frequently thought back to her abduction and often wondered what Mentedor was up to nowadays. She never mentioned him, but whenever a patron would say his name, she'd discretely strain to hear what information they had to relate. Mentedor robbed a casino. Mentedor set fire to an abandoned warehouse. Mentedor painted the exterior of the local prison blue. And not once had he been caught.

It appeared that ever since he'd stopped returning to his designated home base at her saloon, he'd been much harder to catch. Wayne didn't know where to find him anymore and his general ability to allude the law when he wanted to was actually quite impressive. It seemed that he and Roxanne were both more successful without the other person in their lives. Clearly, this was the way things should be.

Scooter had remained with Roxanne and she had come to cherish the creature. It had been over a decade since she'd had any sort of a pet and now she wondered how she ever managed to live without the companionship. She loved the way it bowged happily when she approached it and how it nuzzled her gently with it metal face. Shining its exterior had become one of her favorite pastimes, and Scooter seemed to love the attention. The horse was also wonderfully convenient when it came to transportation. She'd gotten more than a few weird looks while riding it, but nobody had ever actually commented on the being's odd appearance.

It seemed strange to Roxanne that in spite of all of the success her saloon had been having recently, caring Scooter seemed to be the one thing that made her feel truly happy anymore. The rest of the time she felt...not sad, but strangely empty. She'd get over it, though. She just needed a bit of time.

Sunday was Roxanne's day off and her house was long overdue for a good cleaning. She was sweeping the floor when a moth flew in front of her face. She jerked her head back, swatting at it with one hand and it fluttered over to the coffee table. Roxanne approached slowly, brandishing her broom as a weapon. She smacked the bristles down on the table, hard, but the moth managed to fly out of the way just in time, fluttering over to the wood stove. She approached it with a bit less patience this time, swinging the broom at it, only to hit the kettle which fell to the ground and spilled water over the floor as the moth flew back toward the coffee table. Roxanne let out a frustrated grunt and rushed back toward the middle of the room, looking around for the bug and finding it nowhere. Where had it gone? She put down the broom and started tossing the pillows off the couch hoping that she'd find it hiding in there. "Come on out, you little pest," she muttered. Her efforts proved fruitless and, in frustration, she pushed the entire couch over. She sighed and her eyes wandered toward the ceiling to see that the moth had retreated up there. Okay, this meant business. She went up to her room to retrieve on of her chairs.

The duel between woman and moth went on for a couple more minutes before Roxanne heard a knock on her door. That was odd. She never got company. She made her way through the rubble that was left in the wake of her battle, wondering who on Earth it could be.

When she opened the door she was surprised to see a familiar blue face. "Mentedor? What are you...?"

"Um...hey," he said, a little shyly. "Can I come in?"

Roxanne just stared at him, arching an eyebrow. Aside from the shock of finally seeing him again, she was more than a little thrown off by the mysterious absence of his theme music, bad Spanish, and usual confidence. And she didn't even realize he was _capable_ of knocking.

"I promise I'm not here to kidnap you," he added with a slight smile.

Roxanne moved aside to let him in.

Mentedor stepped inside to see the trashed room. "What happened in here?"

"I was cleaning."

"Right..." he said, clearly a little baffled by her technique. It was then that he noticed the moth that was now flying near the center of the room. He smiled, stepped over to it, and cupped his hands around it. Then he returned to the doorway and released it outside, allowing it to flutter away, then closed the door behind it.

Roxanne had moved back to the couch and was attempting to push it back up into its proper position. "So I hear you've..." She grunted, having trouble lifting the piece of furniture. Mentedor walked up next to her and helped push the couch upright. "Thanks." She dusted her hands together, then walked over to one of the cushions that had been scattered on the floor and picked it up. "So I hear you've been making the rounds lately." She placed it back on the couch and went to pick up another.

"Indeed!" said Mentedor pleasantly, picking up a cushion near him. "Mount and I have been quite busy. Terrorizing the county really is a full-time job." He put it on the couch and reached for another. The two of them continued to work as they talked.

"How is Mount?"  
"Oh, Mount is doing as well as ever, fantastic fish that he is. And Scooter?"

"Scooter's good. Scooter's..." she smiled, "...yeah. Nice to have around."

"I see. And how has life been treating you?"

"Oh, you know. Life is...life." Roxanne replaced the last cushion on the couch and took a seat, finally looking back to Mentedor, who was tending to an overturned chair. "So, uh...what are you doing here anyway?"

Mentedor set the chair up and took a seat. "I came here to tell you something. And to ask you something."

"Well that sounds vague and slightly dire. Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine, it's just...I, uh..." He looked down at his hands that were folded before him and paused for a moment. "I've missed you." He waited a moment longer and when he didn't hear Roxanne say anything, he continued. "I'll admit there have been times when I've been tempted to come here and kidnap you again." He smirked at himself. "I believe I'd be happier having you near me and knowing you hate me, than being apart from you and knowing you don't. But...as it turns out, not everything is about what I want."

Roxanne was a little thrown by his confession, which she found simultaneously disconcerting and oddly sweet.

"Anyways," he continued, "I've decided to leave Metro County."

This came as a legitimate shock. Mentedor had been wreaking minor havoc in Metro County for years, and now his hijinks seemed to be more successful than ever. "Why? Did something happen?"

"No, nothing happened," he said, looking up at her. "But there are only so many places in the county one can rob and vandalize, and frankly I've gotten rather curious as to what else is out there. That and there's...nothing really keeping me here anymore."

"I see." She tried to hide the twinge of sadness those words made her feel.

"I've given it a lot of thought and...I..." He cleared his throat. "Roxanne, I think you should consider coming with me."

And there it was. Roxanne sighed. "Mentedor..."

"I know, I know, just... hear me out."

She waited.

"Look, all this time I've been using my evil for evil. But...over the past month it occurred to me. What if I used my evil...for good?" He was brightening at his own words, displaying the familiar enthusiasm he got when describing one of his evil plans.

"I'm not following."

His enthusiasm grew as he spoke. "Okay, so here's my thinking. Up until now I've been choosing my targets – with the exception of you, of course – rather indiscriminately. But do you recall what you told me during your drunken rant last month? You claimed that there are people out protected by the law who are doing far more damage than I. So, what if you and I stepped in where the law failed? What if we targeted the very people who build their empires on the sweat and tears or those too weak to defend themselves? Then we could take those ill-gotten gains and put them toward...oh, I don't know. Feeding the poor or funding libraries or some other such nonsense of your choosing. I was never in this gig for the money in the first place. Thus you satisfy your illogical need to work in the interest of the greater good, while I employ my brilliant and diabolical schemes to make us the most infamous vigilantes of all time!" He was beginning to overflow with excitement now and jumped up on the table. "Can't you see it? El Mentedor and Roxanne! The most dastardly and philanthropic duo! The Robin Hoods of the frontier! Heroes to the downtrodden and villains to the corrupt establishment! You and I, taking life by the reigns! Excitement! Adventure! Notoriety! What'd'ya say?" He was grinning right into her face now.

"I'd say you're crazy."

He looked stung, but not entirely dissuaded. "Oh, come on. What's so crazy about that?"

"Everything! Mentedor, you're asking me to give up the life I've spent years building for myself. My business, my house. Everything I know and everything I've worked so hard for."

He sighed. "I know. I know, it's not a...trivial thing I'm suggesting. And if you can honestly tell me you're happy with your life the way it is right now... I mean...are you?"

That gave her pause. "Well it's...not...glamorous. But I expect it beats spending the rest of my life as a fugitive."

"Oh, being an outlaw is far more entertaining than you give it credit for," he said cheerfully. "I assure you, if you gave it a try, you'd grow to love it!"

"Uh-huh. And what if I wake up one morning and decide I _don't_ love it? I can't exactly just waltz back here and expect no ramifications."

"Then you don't come back here. We pull last heist, you take the money, and retire comfortably in Mexico."

"Mentedor, that's...that's insane. Your whole idea is just crazy!"

"You keep saying that! But, honestly, what's so crazy about this? You get to have fun while fighting for a cause you truly believe in! What could be better than that?"

"Things...they just don't work that way, okay? And besides, it's not exactly like you and I have a history of getting along. We'd probably end up fighting each other just as much as we fight whatever enemies we make."

Mentedor paused. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked a little embarrassed. "You know, I don't mind fighting with you so much..."

Roxanne looked down and let an amused breath out of her nose. The truth was, she rarely felt more alive than when she was quarreling with Mentedor about something or other.

"Roxanne..." said Mentedor. She looked back up at him. "If you really..." He sighed. "If you really don't like me at all, I understand. And I'll go, I just... If the only reason your hesitating is because this plan doesn't adhere to the narrow borders of acceptable societal conventions, I would strongly urge you to at least _consider_ the possibility of..."

"There's something else," she interrupted. He watched her, curious what she had to say. "You have feelings for me."

Mentedor suddenly looked ashamed and began avoiding her gaze. "Why...why should that matter?"

"Don't you think that could make traveling together a little awkward?"

"No? I mean...I wouldn't ever...expect anything of you. I know you'd never feel...that way. About me. And that's fine. This...what I'm proposing to you is a business arrangement. Nothing more."

Roxanne sighed. "Even so. There's so much wrong with this, it's... Mentedor, this can't work. I'm sorry." Her apology was sincere.

Mentedor continued to stand on the table, shoulders slumped, still not meeting her eyes. He looked defeated. Finally he forced a bit of a smile onto his sad face and said, "I understand. I suppose we must all follow our own paths and if this isn't yours..." He stepped down off the table and turned to look at her. "I should go. Thank you for hearing me out."

She looked up at him, sadly. Despite everything he'd put her through, she didn't want him to leave.

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped over to her and took her chin gently in his hand. She could feel her face flushing as he leaned in. Then he kissed her gently on the cheek. "Farewell, seh-nor-it-a," he said quietly. He let his hand fall away and without giving her another look, he turned and began to walk away. He made his way out the door, closing it quietly behind him. And then Roxanne was alone.

She sat there on the couch in almost a daze until she heard the sound of hooves galloping away. She walked over to the window and spotted Mentedor riding Mount off across the desert and watched them become smaller and smaller, until her only friend disappeared over the horizon. Roxanne realized that, in all likeliness, she'd never see him again. The thought made her throat tight and irritated her eyes. She decided to busy herself with cleaning the mess she'd made trying to kill the moth.

Mentedor had been different in so many ways. People all across Metro County had gazed in awe at his blue skin, his giant head, and his odd attire. They'd whispered of his legend and cowered before his dramatic presentation. But to Roxanne, these were the least of what made him unique. Listening to people's thoughts and feelings had always been a part of her job. Over the years she'd heard countless life stories and attitudes about life. And yet Mentedor's motivations, his dreams, his ideals, and his idiocy...all of these things seemed unique to only him. And while he drove her nuts sometimes, she'd grown to put up with him. No, more than that. She liked him. Even if she didn't agree with most of what he did or thought. She couldn't help but appreciate his spirit.

And she liked being around him, at least when he wasn't manhandling her bound and gagged body. It was honestly enjoyable talking to him when he dropped his pretension. And the one time the two of them had actually worked together to help that old man, she'd felt a satisfaction she hadn't experienced since the early days at the saloon. Or possibly ever. Knowing that she had not only succeeded in a difficult endeavor, but actually done some real good was a remarkable high. The possibility of death looming around the corner was not her favorite thing in the world, but she couldn't deny that it was all fairly exciting.

She hadn't really taken his proposal all that seriously. Although it did have a certain strange logic to it. Yeah, she'd have had fun if she'd gone with him. She'd have been able to once again feel that rush of excitement, that gratification of knowing she was helping others, and that aggravating fondness of being around her strange blue friend. But she was far too practical and levelheaded to give the idea any sort of real consideration. Abandoning her life to run off and become a vigilante? She'd have to be as crazy as he was.

Sure, she was in a bit of a rut now. She could admit that to herself. But she'd get over it. Her saloon had already been flourishing since Mentedor stopped visiting. And now that he was leaving the county, all the potential customers who avoided her business due to fear that he might show up might finally give the bar a chance. She'd be raking in the money soon enough. Maybe she could build a new wing to the saloon. Or start a chain. The possibilities were endless. And that was all pretty exciting, right? Not exploring-the-country-and-pulling-benevolent-heists exciting but still...kind of exciting. Sort of.

She was lonely now, yes, but that wouldn't last forever. There might not be other Mentedors, but there were plenty of nice people who she could probably grow to like if she gave them the chance. Maybe she'd even meet a nice man and settle down. Maybe even start a family. That could be good. Yeah. Just live a nice, normal...

Oh, God. What had she done?

Roxanne bolted out the door and leapt onto Scooter. She grabbed the reigns, cried out, "Hyah!" and took off as fast as she could in the direction she'd seen Mentedor ride off in. She leaned forward as her cyborg horse galloped across the desert, keeping her eyes open for any trace of her former companions.

She pulled to a stop once she reached the edge of the dune she'd see the two disappear over. Narrowing her eyes, she looked out across the vast expanse below. A figure was riding away in the distance. Roxanne snapped Scooter's reigns and began riding down the hill. She didn't know how long it would take to catch up with them or if she might lose them in the process. "Mentedor!" she called out. He kept riding, not seeming to hear her.

She rode for a little bit longer, closing the space between them a little before calling his name out again. This time he seemed to hear her, slowing Mount to a halt and looking back toward the approaching woman.

At last she reached him and pulled to a stop. He was looking at her with sincere confusion.

"Roxanne?" he asked.

"Hey," said Roxanne with a bit of a smile. "So, uh...where are we going first?"


End file.
